#back in april i was Going Through It with a lot and even though i'd been lighter on here (my main) anyway i was just like

[ilostyou]

personally i think getting shadowbanned would drive me to the point of certified insanity but it might forcefully drive me away from this hellsite which .. could be a positive thing

[rivalsforlife]

pardon me if you’re tired of discussing this but. we know aa7 is on capcom’s radar on some level. and now they’ve rereleased every game right?? they’ve finally run out of backlog material after almost yearly releases since 2019…. Not to put the clown wig and nose back on too early but do you think we’ll actually get news about, or get to see, aa7 next year?

Never tired of discussing this!! This is right around the time of year where I'd be preparing to make my yearly AA7 Speculation Post anyway so this is great timing. (TGS, my enemy, is approaching.)

So just to make sure everyone's on the same page, here's a quick recap of where we're currently at:

In November 2020 we got internal Capcom leaks which included a calendar from 2019 with the roadmap for the AA series the next couple of years. This included:

DGS1&2 collection, which I did not think was going to happen ever, releasing April-June 2021

AA7, releasing around October-December 2021, right around the 20th anniversary.

Through late 2019-mid 2022, reconsider porting 456

We got DGS1&2 (a bit later than in the plan, but by like a month), we got the 456 ports, we got bonus AAI ports, we have nothing for AA7 nearly three years after it was supposed to come out. The pandemic is an obvious feature that could contribute to its delay, but at this point with 456 ports out I think we can safely say that this was not the only cause.

Some other things that may or may not be contributing to AA7's delay include:

Yamazaki, the previous main writer for 5&6 and the AAIs, left Capcom in 2020. If he was involved in AA7 at all, that could throw a wrench into things, but I recall hearing he intended AA6 to be his last AA game (I AM STRUGGLING TO FIND THE SOURCE THOUGH SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME), so I don't think this contributed very much. It does, however, mean that we're unsure about who the next main writer is - depending on what Takumi's up to or if they had to bring someone new on, there could be complications related to that.

I think TGAA did way better than anyone expected, which I covered in this post. It's possible that this could have shifted Capcom's priorities to porting more old games / porting to all modern consoles. It may have made people at Capcom think "damn everyone loves Takumi" so they tried to lure him back to AA7, and I have no idea how well that would have gone or if Takumi is even interested in continuing mainline AA right now. (I do think this at least contributed to the Ghost Trick ports.)

In my first ever AA7 speculation post I talked about how the ending of AA6 kind of wrote them into a corner re: how to continue with the series and which protagonist to use. I still stand by that argument even if a lot of that post aged badly.

Console ports! Previously new AA games were for whichever Nintendo handheld is out now (GBA, Nintendo DS, Nintendo 3DS). But now that the series is doing really well on all consoles, they may have decided to try to make their next mainline entry on all consoles, which would take more development time. Adding to this is that the Switch is near the end of its lifecycle with the Switch 2 (or whatever the successor will be) being announced soon - meaning that, if AA7 is coming out soon, Capcom is in the position of "do we try to squeeze this into the end of the Switch's lifecycle" (which, I'll need to find sources for this, is speculated to be some of the reasons behind why AAI2 and DGS2 sold badly when they were first released, and they can't make the same mistake thrice... right...?) or "do we try to time it with the release of the Switch 2"?

Also, a lot of this depends on how far AA7 was into development whenever it was derailed. If it was derailed from the pandemic, then according to the calendar, it would likely have still been in the prototype stage. It may be early enough that they would have had to start from scratch whenever they picked it up again. I don't work in the gaming industry so I have no idea how long it takes them to make a game or how easy it would be from what stage they're in.

One thing we can compare to is some of the comments about the recent AAI ports: in this interview, Shunsuke Nishida, the producer of the AAI collection, says that development on the collection began in 2022. He also mentions that this began once development on 456 was concluded. This leads me to believe that (contrary to my previous assumptions) 456 and AAIC were not developed concurrently (or if so, had very minimal overlap), and that the process of upscaling graphics, porting, and localization took them... about a year, maybe? So that takes time, even without taking into consideration how long it would take to come up with a new idea + write the script + the bulk of the programming that would have to be done that isn't considered with porting + probably way more than I can think of because again I do not work in the gaming industry.

There's also the question of why 456 and AAIC weren't developed concurrently. The calendar from 2020 shows that TGAA and AA7 were meant to be developed at least somewhat concurrently, and the staff from TGAA would eventually merge into working on AA7. Once again, we don't know what happened to the staff that were supposed to be working on AA7. It's possible pandemic complications meant they got shuffled onto other projects. It's possible the AA-related team is smaller now than it was in 2020, so they only have enough people to work on one project at a time. It's also possible that there's a team that was working on ports, and a team that was working on a new game, and now the "port team" is freed up to work on the "new game team".

Either way though, pretty much every interview with the staff for the 456 or AAI ports are all saying "look forward to the future of the series", which is definitely Corporate Speak, but unless they're bringing the ports of the Layton crossover (fingers crossed) that can only mean one thing. (AAI anime?) Plus, like I've discussed in this post, AA is having fantastic sales in general. They've seemingly either hired a new social media manager or changed the strategy so there is much more engagement on twitter. And AA is getting on bigger and bigger announcements - though AA trilogy ports were announced at TGS (at an AA-specific panel), TGAA duology ports were announced unceremoniously on twitter. Afterwards, 456 ports got announced at the Capcom Showcase during Summer Game Fest. And now AAI collection got announced at a Nintendo Direct, which I imagine is even more expensive, so the series must be going in a good direction for them to think that's worth it!

That's a lot of rambling for me to say I definitely think it's coming.

When are we going to see it though!!

Coming up in September is my eternal enemy Tokyo Game Show. Since AAI collection is being released at the beginning of September... it might be a bit too soon to announce a new game, but who knows. They might think it's profitable to ride the hype they're building now for AAI collection to announce a new game. Or they might let it sit for a while.

With AAIC getting announced at a Direct, I'm thinking they'll want to make AA7's announcement a) big and b) global. AA6 was announced in Famitsu, but the problem with that is that it's a mostly Japanese audience, and some interviews have been talking about how AA's global audience is particularly contributing to how big it is right now. So I'm expecting AA's next announcement to be at something major and something that will get attention from overseas audiences.

If they have been working on AA7 concurrently -- and honestly I do think there has at least been some progress on it since 2019 -- we could definitely see an announcement within the next year. I was also saying this in 2020, though, so don't take my word for it. There's been two year gaps between ports up until the AAI collection, and they seemed pretty proud about releasing 456 and AAI in the same year, so... maybe they'll want to keep it going and announce AA7 within the next year, especially if they'll have a longer announcement -> release period than they normally would for ports.

Potential candidates include:

Tokyo Game Show: As previously stated, it's very close to the AAIC release, so I don't think it's the best timing for it. I would not want my favorite AA game overshadowed by whatever the hell they're going to do with AA7. Likelihood: depends on how fast they want to follow up on the hype.

The Game Awards: is the next major gaming event, but that's already massive in terms of the type of games that get announced there, and it's expensive! Nintendo Direct is one thing since AA has always been a Nintendo-first series, but I don't think it's big enough to justify putting in a Game Awards ad. and I already have my clown wig on for persona 6 there. Likelihood: pretty low tbh

Next Year's Summer Game Fest-related Shows: I think this is the most likely, considering both the 456 collection and the AAI collection were announced around this time. For AA7 I'd say a Nintendo Direct to get lots of eyes on it, especially if AAIC sales pay off. Likelihood: pretty high!

Which leads me into my wildcard answer:

Switch 2 Announcement Stream: If Capcom decides to go in and make AA7 one of the first games for whatever the switch successor would be, it could be announced here. I regret to admit that I am a very bad gamer and only like two things, and therefore have not ever been present for one of these things to know how many games get announced as launch games for a new console, but, like, it's possible.

In the above scenario, I'm not necessarily saying that AA7 would be a Switch 2 exclusive - because I think that would be stupid after so much of the support they've gotten from the ports has been from playstation and steam - but I am definitely the kind of person who would buy a console for one video game. Shoutout to me buying a switch in part anticipating that aa7 would come out on it and that is not looking likely

Anyways, that's my speculation!! Reminder that this is mostly uninformed and that I have no knowledge of anything related to sales or marketing or video game development, and as a result of that, I have been wrong (aside from the one time I accurately predicted AAI ports as a joke) for four consecutive years.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 9

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, some smut.

Word Count: 6,553

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Since I haven't posted anything on this series for the last two weeks, I thought I'd get this chapter out to you guys early, instead of waiting for Saturday. I hope you think it was worth the wait. The last chapter will be posted on Saturday, April 13. Thanks for all your support of this series! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

3 weeks later

He’d lost them. They were gone. 

Their screams echoed in his ears as he came awake with a start, breathing hard and fast.

Dean sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot, feeling Y/N shifting beside him. 

“Dean?” Her voice was squeaky and thick with sleep. 

She sat up and began rubbing her hand across his back as she moved to sit beside him. He didn’t need to explain why he was awake and breathing as though he’d run a mile.

Y/N kissed his shoulder and he felt the heat of her lips through his thin cotton t-shirt. “It was just a dream.” She kissed him again. “Just a bad dream. Everything’s okay.”

Dean nodded absently and then turned towards her and cupped her cheek in his hand; he needed to touch her, feel she was real. He kissed her lips, soft and brief before he turned to look at Emma sleeping across the tent. She looked so tiny, dwarfed even by the small cot.

Dean stood up and crossed to her. Her little limbs were completely tangled up in the blankets and her head was nearly hanging off the side of the cot. Dean leaned down and adjusted her position to something comfier. He untangled her and tucked the blanket around her properly before reaching up and pushing back her messy brown curls from her forehead. He trailed his knuckles over her soft cheek and took comfort in the sleepy sigh that escaped her.

He stood staring at her a moment before he felt Y/N come up behind him and take hold of his bicep, pressing another kiss into the muscle there. He turned to look at her and the concern in her gaze was obvious, making him feel guilty. He bent to kiss her again, more lingering this time, as he buried his fingers in her soft, silky hair.

She kissed him back and wound her arms around his waist. When he pulled away, the warmth of their kisses had burned away some of the worry in her eyes and he was glad. He kissed her forehead and nodded towards the cot. 

“Sorry I woke you. You should go back to sleep.”

She cocked her head and shot him a look with an arched brow. “So should you.”

Dean lifted one corner of his mouth in his best attempt at a smile.

“N’ah, I got my four hours. I’m good.” When Y/N opened her mouth to argue again he spoke before she could. “I have some stuff I gotta work on. So, you go back to bed.”

He pecked her lips once more and then stepped out of her arms, grabbing his jacket as he headed out; March may have been going out like a lamb, but there was still a brisk chill in the air outside the warm tent.

He knew he’d never be able to concentrate on any of the things that he actually should be doing so he just walked. He walked all through the camp, weaving between tents and nodding at the odd person who was out and about like him. He went to the garage and thought about working on Baby, but there really wasn’t any more he could do until they could go out and find her four new tires.

So he kept walking. He walked and walked until he came to the river. Most of its winter ice was broken up and within a couple weeks people would be able to come for cold baths once again which would be welcomed happily after months of unsatisfying basin baths. 

It was probably dangerous for him to be so far from camp without another  person, but he had his gun strapped to his thigh as always and the silence and wide open space around the edge of the river was soothing. He needed an escape from the relentless visions that swam in his mind’s eye. Horrific visions of Y/N and Emma being torn apart right in front of him.

He dropped to the ground to sit; his shoulders were bent and he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to gouge out the images. 

Every night for weeks now he’d had the same kinds of dreams. There was never any specific situation in the dreams, at least nothing he could remember. But he just knew Y/N and Emma were being hurt and it was his fault. 

Cas still hadn’t heard anything from the angels, no angel radio, and no contact from anyone. But his powers seemed to be mostly back. He still couldn’t teleport, but he could heal - they’d tested it again just to make sure it wasn’t a one time fluke. But Dean cut a long gash in his arm and the angel had mended it quickly and easily. Cas could also tap people to sleep, and he said he’d begun to “see like an angel” again. Dean wasn’t a hundred percent sure exactly what that meant, but it sounded important. 

There was no doubt the angels were back on earth. And they’d be coming for him.

***

Later that afternoon Dean sat at their table, as Y/N planned out a lesson for the next day. But his mind was still miles away, desperately turning possibilities over and over in his mind. For the last couple of months, since they figured out the truth about Y/N, he, Y/N and Cas had been working on a game plan for how to track down other younger generation psychic kids, as well as figuring out how to go about searching for former scientists, doctors, researchers, or anyone who might know enough to try and create a vaccine. 

They knew it would be incredibly hard and time consuming, but they were determined. Or at least Cas and Y/N were determined. Lately Dean had begun considering another possibility.

As he sat worrying and contemplating things, Emma surprised him out of his stupor, climbing into his lap and putting her little hand on his cheek. 

Dean worked up a small smile for her sake, but it obviously wasn’t enough because she spoke in a solemn voice.

“Are you sad?”

Dean shook his head and forced his smile wider. “No, of course not.”

“You look sad.”

Dean marveled at the little girl’s intuition (she was her mother's daughter) but he shook his head again. “N’ah, I’m fine, kiddo. Just thinking.”

“Bout what?”

“Nothing important, just some boring grownup things.” He tugged her braid and changed the subject. “How was school?”

Her eyes lit up and lost their look of worry. “It was good! Mommy read us a book about a dog. He was red and really huge!”

Dean chuckled. “Ah, yeah. Clifford.”

“Yeah!” Emma exclaimed excitedly. “Did you read that book before?”

He nodded. “Oh sure, there are a bunch of Clifford books. I used to read them all the time to…” He stumbled over his words for a moment, but cleared his throat and continued. “I used to read them to my little brother all the time when we were kids.”

As always, thoughts of Sam and who he used to be, sliced a deep cut into his heart, but he was used to how it bled so he could mostly ignore it. Emma’s bright blue eyes turned pleading.

“I want a dog like Clifford. Can we get one?”

Dean smiled. “Don’t think there’s too many dogs like Clifford out there. He’s pretty big and red.”

Emma shrugged. “K, just a normal dog then? Please?”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. Before he could say anything though, Emma was quick to explain herself. 

“He doesn’t have to live in the tent, he could just live in the camp. He could be our camp dog, like Lily is our camp cow.”

Dean sighed as Emma stared up at him, her little face imploring. “Pleeeease.” She repeated. He saw Y/N smirking out of the corner of his eye, but she said nothing.

“We’ll have to see kiddo, okay?” He said with a kiss to the top of Emma's head. Her face fell a little but she shrugged. 

“M’kay.” She mumbled. 

Y/N stood up and reached for Emma’s hand to help her hop down off of Dean’s lap. “Okay, baby, go outside and run off some energy before supper.” She helped Emma into her jacket and the little girl bounded towards the exit. 

“Stay close to the tent.” Y/N called to her.

Emma gave a pout. “Can’t I go see Julianne and Keisha?”

“Fine, but no further.”

Emma took off quickly just in case Y/N changed her mind.

Y/N chuckled lightly and then walked over to where Dean sat. When she got there she lowered herself to her knees in front of him and laid her fingertips against his jaw. 

“Wanna talk about some of those boring grown up thoughts swirling around in your head and keeping you so distracted.”

Dean gave a half smile. “They’re pretty boring.”

“Try me.”

He shrugged and Y/N sighed. “Is this about the dream you had this morning?”

He shook his head. “Dreams. Every night. For weeks.”

Y/N’s brow crinkled. “Why didn’t you tell me about them sooner?”

“What’s to tell? They’re horrific and confusing.”

Dean felt his fear bubbling up in his chest, acidic and almost painful in its intensity. He couldn’t keep Y/N’s earnest gaze; he took the hand she held against his jaw and squeezed it between his own as he lowered his head and stared at the floor.

“What if we…me, you and Emma, what if we just left?”

Y/N’s voice was incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

He finally looked back at her and he knew his expression was probably desperate, but he couldn’t help it. He was desperate. 

“The camp would be fine with Cas in charge. And I’d get him to brand you and Emma and they wouldn’t be able to find us.”

“What are y-? Brand us?” Y/N asked, interrupting her own question.

Dean shook his head dismissively. “Just your ribs. It doesn’t hurt. I mean, not bad anyway. And it keeps them away, keeps them from tracking us.”

“Keeps who away?” Y/N asked, confusion clear on her face and in her voice.

“The angels.” Dean said low and quiet, feeling as though they might be listening in.

Y/N frowned. “Why would you want to hide from angels?”

Dean shook his head. “Look, Cas is an outlier, okay. Most angels are dicks, and some are downright sadistic.”

Y/N’s eyes were round now. “How…how can that be? Aren’t they…I mean I didn’t really go to Sunday School much as a kid, but aren’t angels supposed to be righteous? Aren’t they supposed to protect us?”

Dean scoffed. “In theory. But a lot of them can’t stand humans. And if they’re back now…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Okay but,” Y/N was obviously still confused, “even if that’s true, why would that make you want to run from the camp?”

He stared at her a long time, debating telling her everything, the danger they were all in if the angels found him, but in the end he just shook his head. Why should she have to carry around this same awful fear?

“No, it was just a stupid idea. I don’t like the angels, so I’m not anxious to see them again, but you’re right. Running is dumb.”

They’d find us somehow anyway. Dean thought to himself.

“Dean,” Y/N began, obviously not convinced by his dismissive answer. But before she could say more, he cut her off with a kiss. It might have started as a distraction, but that purpose immediately fell away as he delved his tongue into her mouth and devoured her. The soft sounds issuing from the back of her throat drove him crazy and suddenly it was as though he couldn’t get close enough.

He pulled away and they were both panting. Y/N’s smile turned mischievous and she dropped her hands from the open sides of his flannel to his belt buckle.

“Emma won't be back for a while. Think I’ve got time to put a smile on your face?” She said as she slid his belt open. But Dean put his hands on hers, halting her. 

“No, I wanna…” He trailed off and then stood up abruptly, grabbing Y/N’s wrist and pulling her along behind him. He could feel her confusion and he threw a wink over his shoulder as they left the tent. 

“Trust me.”

Y/N’s brow smoothed out and she grinned. “Okay.”

They left the tent and walked east, meeting Johnston along the way. Dean called out to him as they passed, but didn’t really slow down.

“Emma’s over at Monique's. Go tell her to stay there till we come pick her up.”

“Yes sir!” Johnston called back and he ran off to follow the order.

They walked briskly all the way to the garage. If anyone wondered about why the Boss was speeding across the camp with a dangling belt and Y/N in tow, no one stopped them to ask. Dean assumed they could figure it out. 

They reached Baby and Dean wrenched open the back door. Y/N’s face was beet red as she looked around surreptitiously and whispered in a scandalized voice.

“Dean it’s the middle of the day, there are people around.”

Dean shrugged. “So?” He paused a beat and then gave a sideways nod towards the door. “Get in.” He watched the fiery heat bloom in Y/N’s red-ringed eyes and his whole body hardened as it always did when he knew she was thinking lustful thoughts.

With a girlish giggle that made his heart happy and hurt in equal measure, Y/N climbed into the back seat. Dean followed her and closed the door behind him. The curtains were all still drawn, so he simply locked the doors before turning to Y/N and immediately capturing her lips again. He gently pushed her down on the leather seat beneath him. 

He spread kisses across her chest, and she sighed. “I’m gonna have to try and be quiet.” She whispered. 

Dean shook his head and spoke against her skin. “Don’t bother. You won't be.”

She let out a surprised laugh. “Wow, someone’s sure of themselves.”

Dean slid his hand into the waistband of her leggings and pushed aside her panties to slide two fingers through her wet heat and rub them against her clit. Y/N gasped loudly and Dean arched a brow as he watched the pleasure ripple across her face.

“Do you doubt my abilities to make you scream?”

Y/N shook her head back and forth, letting out a keening moan as he pushed his fingers into her body, his jaw clenching at the way her cunt tightened around them. 

She reached for his waistband again, trying to open the button on his jeans, but Dean stopped her once again. 

“No, I just wanna touch you, just wanna watch you while I stroke you and pleasure you.” He found the spongy spot deep inside her, and swept across it teasingly. Y/N let out a cry of pleasure, clapping a hand over her mouth when she realized that she was indeed failing to be quiet. 

He pulled out of her body and raised his fingers to his mouth, sucking her essence from his fingertips. “You’re so fucking delicious, sweetheart.” He put his fingers to her lips, pushing them into her mouth and against her tongue to give her a taste before dragging them down over her chin and the long column of her neck as she arched her back.

He made quick work of stripping her so that she laid beneath him covered only in goosebumps. She reached up to pull off his shirts and he let her, so that she could pet her hands down his torso, and press her nails into his back as he dipped his head to suck on her pulse. He worked his way down her body, letting his tongue explore her, memorize her. 

He refused to try and dissect why he had such a thrumming need to burn every inch of her skin into his memory, to learn her sighs and moans like they were lyrics to his favorite song. 

In the back of his mind he knew why, but he shied away from the truth. He only wanted to feel her move beneath him, only wanted to taste her, only wanted to concentrate on the way her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she tried to hold in a moan and the way the sound burst out of her anyway when he speared her with his tongue.

He spent the next hour pulling her apart over and over until the sound of his name on her lips was a refrain he knew he’d never be able to forget.

***

A few more days passed and Dean did his best to avoid Y/N’s questioning glances. He didn’t want to talk about the fears that grew stronger inside him every day.

One night as he laid beside Y/N on the small cot, her arm around his waist and her face buried in his chest, he heard rustling outside the tent that sounded like footsteps. It was the middle of the night. There would be no reason for someone to be walking around their tent unless there was some kind of trouble.

He gently disentangled Y/N’s arms from around him and got up, grabbing his gun from just under the cot. As he was leaving he glanced at Emma to make sure she was sleeping peacefully, moving outside the tent when he could see that she was.

He couldn’t see anyone in the immediate area, so he moved stealthily through the tents. Finally he came out into the clear open area between the tents and the spring vegetable plots. He looked towards the big cabin, and couldn’t see anything amiss. Still, something felt off and he decided he’d go talk to the soldiers he had stationed at the southern post for the night.

But before he could move he heard a voice behind him that made his blood run cold.

“Dean! Long time no see!”

He turned slowly, his gun raised, to see the angel Zachariah standing barely six feet away. The angel’s smug round face was exactly the same, same watery gray eyes, same phony smile.

And then Dean realized why everything felt off and strange. He lowered his gun and dropped his arms back to his sides. 

“I’m dreaming.”

Zachariah continued to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were cold and calculating, just as they’d always been. “That’s right. Only way I could talk to you. We’ve been away so long.” 

He looked around the camp and his lip curled. “Can’t say I was very anxious to come back to this smelly, cold rock.”

“Well,” Dean said, his voice hard and quiet, “don’t let me keep you here.”

Zachariah waved at him. “Oh no, the uh boss man, Michael,” he thumbed towards the sky, “he said the time was right for us to strike, finally. At first I thought he was crazy. I mean, once Sam said the big yes and we lost him as a catalyst to make you say yes, I must admit, most of us just gave up. No apocalypse this go round.”

He shrugged. “Then Lucifer leveled the planet with his little virus and you all became very, very boring. And the prayers! Ugh, god! They were nonstop.” 

His voice took on a mocking whine. “‘Oh save us, heavenly hosts.’, ‘Help us god!’, ‘Save us from these monsters!’ It just went on and on!” He shuddered. “It was so loud all the time, so we just had to get away from the whining.”

Dean’s jaw was clenched so tight it was almost painful. He nodded and sneered. “Away from the helpless, dying people that you set up to be killed, you mean?”

Zachariah shrugged. “We tried to tell you that Michael had to be around to fight the adversary. But no, your stubborn independence was more important.”

Dean tried to keep his voice level. “What are you doing here now?”

The angel rolled his eyes. “You’re joking right? Come on Dean, your brother may have been the brains of your little operation, but surely you’re at least smart enough to figure this one out.”

Dean stayed silent, refusing to acknowledge the terror he could feel in the pit of his stomach.

Zachariah sighed deeply. “Come on Dean,” he encouraged, “I’ll help you out. So, if we left because you were so broken and useless when you found out your brother said yes, if we left because we knew we had nothing left to tempt you or force you to say yes…why do you think we’re back now?”

He paused as though he was a teacher waiting for a particularly dull student to answer an easy question.

Dean felt like he might throw up. “You think you can coerce me again now.”

Zachariah shot a finger gun at him. “Bingo! Except we don’t think we can, we know we can.” His voice became cold and lost its fake joviality. “You’ve got things to lose again.”

Dean felt like panic might be choking him and he desperately wanted to wake up and run. He shook his head at the angel superior. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zachariah rolled his eyes again. “Dean, don’t be ridiculous. We may have been away, but we’ve still been keeping an eye on you. We know all about your little camp of misfit toys, including your pretty, near-monster girlfriend and her pink-cheeked little brat. You care for them, all of them.” He nodded slowly. “We can work with that.”

Dean’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he felt the walls of his nightmares closing in. “You can’t find us. You don’t know where we are, and Cas and I put up as much angel warding as he could take. You won’t locate us.”

Zachariah shrugged. “But you know we will. It’s just a matter of time. Unless you want to save us all some time and just tell me right now?”

Dean’s eyes were blazing with hate as he just stared silently.

“No?” The angel sighed deeply. “Well in that case, I’ll just say, see you real soon.”

Dean came awake slowly, but panic set in quickly. 

He jumped out of bed, calling to Y/N. “Sweetheart, get up. Now!”

Y/N rubbed her hand across her eyes and sat up. “Dean. What’s going on?” She asked in extreme confusion.

But Dean didn’t answer her. Instead he was shaking Emma awake. “Get up, baby. Emma!” The little girl grumbled sleepily, but Dean forced her to sit up. “I’m sorry kiddo, but you need to put on really warm pants and a shirt. Dress warm, we might be outside for a while, okay? Your big boots and your scarf too.”

“Dean, stop.” Y/N was standing up now and moved over to grab his arm. “What is this? What?”

Before Dean could answer Cas walked into the still dark tent, bringing a lantern with him. Dean turned to him and Cas’ usually stoic, solemn face showed fear.

“They’re coming.”

Dean closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I know. Zachariah came to me in a dream.” He gritted his teeth. “Piece of shit.” 

“What’s the plan?” Cas asked.

Dean nodded and answered as he was rushing around, pulling on a flannel over his t-shirt. He’d worn his jeans to bed, so he simply shrugged into his green jacket and started loading up his duffle bag. 

“So, we gotta go.” He told Cas. “You need to brand them, so they’re off angel radar too.” He said, rubbing a hand across his ribs. “I figure if we head out within the hour, we might be able to get a decent head start on them.”

Cas was shaking his head as Dean finished. “You can’t just leave the camp. Zachariah will torch the whole thing just to draw you back.”

Dean refused to admit the truth in Cas’ words. “No, that’s…look if I’m not around he’d have nothing to gain from burning the camp. It wouldn’t -”

Cas cut him off. “I told you, he’d burn it to bring you back, or just out of sheer spite and you know it.”

Dean opened his mouth to continue the argument when Y/N’s shout interrupted them.

“Enough. Stop talking right this instant and explain to me exactly what it is that you’re talking about, or I swear I’m going to lose my mind.”

Silence reigned for a few moments as Emma stared up at them all as though she was in the middle of a very vivid and kind of scary dream.

Dean stared into Y/N’s eyes for a moment before he decided she deserved to know the whole truth even if it was messy and painful. He’d just have to try and tell her quickly. 

He reached forward to squeeze her hand and then dropped it as he paced around the tent continuing to fill his duffle bag with supplies they’d need. 

“You remember me telling you about my brother Sam?” Y/N nodded, but Dean was just barreling on. “Well, I let it seem as though Sam died, but he didn’t, not really.”

Y/N was watching him roam around the room and he glanced at her quickly before continuing. “He’s uh, he’s Lucifer’s vessel. He’s…Lucifer took him over.”

Y/N’s eyes almost bulged out of her head. “Like…the devil? Are you telling me your brother is the devil?”

Dean shook his head and glanced at Emma, but she seemed to be half asleep as she watched them. “No, not really. Lucifer is just using his body, walking around in it. See angels don’t have form on earth, they’re just a bright white light. So, they have to possess a human, a vessel.”

Y/N looked over at Cas. “Wait, this isn’t what you really look like?” 

Cas shrugged. “Well, my vessel, Jimmy Novak, his soul is in heaven. His body was exploded into oblivion, by an archangel, which also should have destroyed me. But God brought me back, and fashioned me this vessel. But it’s only me in here now.”

Y/N stared at him, blinking slowly for a moment before tilting her head. “Um…what?”

“Look, that doesn’t matter right now.” Dean said dismissively before continuing with his rapid fire explanation.

“Unlike demons, an angel needs permission to enter a human body, they need the person’s consent. So, at some point, Sam said yes to the devil. I don’t know why. I wasn’t…I wasn’t around when he said yes.”

He looked back at Y/N and he could tell she was desperately trying to take in all he was saying; her voice was contemplative as she spoke. 

“Okay, that’s…I’m so sorry, Dean. That must have been horrible for you. But I’m still unclear about why we’re running away. You said the other day you wanted to hide from the angels? Why?”

Dean took in a deep breath, straightening up and finally dropping his duffle bag to the floor before crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Because I’m a vessel too.”

Y/N’s eyes grew wide again. “For Lucifer?”

Dean shook his head and resumed his movements, no longer packing, just pacing. “No, for Michael, another archangel. The angels all believed Sam and I were destined to be their vessels on earth, allowing them to fight some epic battle that would bring on the apocalypse.” His voice was harsh with anger. 

“When we found out about these supposed destinies, we both swore we wouldn’t do it, that they couldn’t make us. But I…well, I abandoned Sam, so I have no idea what they did to make him say yes. I was hurt and angry, and I truly thought we’d do better apart. So, I left my little brother to deal with the devil by himself.”

He stopped pacing and turned away from Y/N completely. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Dean.” Y/N’s voice was soft but he turned back to her and waved away her sympathy.

“None of that is the point though. The point is that they could never get me to say yes, but they were desperate to. And now they’re coming back because…well according to the asshole angel who was just in my dream, I have -” he closed his eyes. “I have something to lose now.”

Y/N’s face was scared, but he could see she was fighting to keep her voice level. “Okay, can I ask, maybe…I mean, if you said yes, then wouldn’t that make you powerful, maybe you could try to fight the devil, maybe you could push him out of your brother. Or maybe, I mean if angels can heal, think of all the good you could do in this sick world with that kind of power.”

Dean was shaking his head. “No, Y/N you don’t understand. If I say yes and Michael takes over, I’ll be…I’ll be gone. I’ll have no power inside my own body. I won’t be able to make any decisions or do anything to change Michael's course. And his only course would be to end Lucifer and end my little brother in the process.”

“And,” Cas interjected, “Archangels rarely leave a vessel alive.”

Dean wished Cas had left out that little tidbit as Y/N’s face became more and more horrified. She took deep steadying breaths as Emma finally climbed out of her cot and walked over to Dean to wrap her arms around his forearm. 

“You’re going?” She asked in a sleepy voice. Dean shook his head but before he could answer her they heard a loud scream and Cas stiffened. 

“It’s too late. They’re here.”

Dean's stomach clenched so tightly it felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. Within seconds they could smell smoke and hear the crackle of flames. Dean grabbed Emma up in his arms and ran out towards the noise. As they emerged from the tents they could see the big cabin burning in the distance, flames shooting high. 

Standing barely ten feet in front of them was Zachariah and four other angels.

As they stood staring at the angels, Johnston and Risa joined them, seeming to understand instinctively that this ominous, incongruous group of men in suits were a bigger problem than the fire.  

They all looked to where the campers were gathering and scrambling forward with buckets of water from the rain barrels that sat beside the school and storage shed. They quickly formed an assembly line and began moving the buckets back and forth to the cabin. 

But Dean could see they wouldn’t be able to save it. The best they could do was keep the fire from spreading to the surrounding trees. 

He looked at Zachariah with hatred dripping from his pores. “Stop this, right now, you son of a bitch.”

Zachariah pretended offense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. A lightning bolt struck it. Just an unlikely act of God.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but when the angel’s gaze fell on Emma as she clung to Dean’s neck, he turned to Y/N who pulled her daughter away and then set her on the ground behind her. Instantly Johnston, Risa and Cas closed ranks in front of Y/N and Emma.

Zachariah just smiled. “Aw, that’s really adorable.” He looked back at Dean. “But you know the strength I wield. Do you really think your little wall of protectors is gonna stop me?”

Dean’s mind was reeling, terrified and racing for solutions to this utterly inescapable situation.

When he didn’t immediately answer, Zachariah’s face became thunderous. “We are NOT playing this game again, Dean Winchester!” He barked out before snapping his fingers.

Suddenly Johnston fell to his knees, clutching his throat as blood bubbled over his fingers. Y/N and Emma screamed in horror and Risa shouted out a denial as her friend and brother-in-arms fell at her feet. Cas turned, reaching out to touch the soldier to try and heal him, but two angels bolted forward to hold him back. 

Dean scrambled to Johnston’s side, across from where Risa knelt. The young soldier was deathly pale as Dean held his head in his hands.

“It’s okay, soldier. You hear me? Stay, stay with us now.” He ordered him, even though he knew he was asking for the impossible. Red blood stained the young soldier’s neck and his shirt as his life's blood spilled into the muddy, wet ground beneath him.

“Eric.” Dean called to him softly as he gripped his shoulder. “Eric.” The young man looked up at him and it was the first time he’d ever looked at Dean without fear or trepidation of some kind in his eyes. A soft smile graced his lips and Dean wished he knew what he was seeing as he closed his eyes and let his last breath rattle from his chest. Risa pressed her forehead to his, crying quietly.

Dean’s gaze was scorchingly hot as he stood back up and looked across at the uncaring monster in front of him.

Zachariah shrugged. “Just a little reminder of how quick I can make everything change.” Again he looked at Emma where she was crying in Y/N’s arms, and raised his arm to snap his fingers again.

“No!” Dean screamed out, leaping in front of Y/N and Emma as though he could possibly save them if that snap came. “Okay, yes! Yes!” He shouted.

His breathing was ragged and tears clogged his throat. “Yes. Please. Please don't hurt them.” He hated that he was begging, but he’d do whatever it took to keep Y/N and Emma breathing and safe.

Zachariah slowly lowered his hand, a smug smile on his sneering face. “Glad negotiations went better this time around. So, let’s call Micheal down shall we?”

Dean held up a hand. “Yes, but just…put out that fire.” He said pointing at the still blazing inferno. Some people seemed to realize that something was happening across the camp, but they were all quite occupied putting out the fire. Zachariah shrugged and nodded and the blaze was suddenly out, black smoke rising from the ruins of the big cabin.

Dean took a deep breath. “And let me…say goodbye to them.” 

Zachariah rolled his eyes but waved at him to hurry up. Dean turned to Cas, ignoring the asshole angels who were no longer holding him, but were still close behind. He called Risa over and she finally left her friend’s side to join them. He put a hand on each of their shoulders. 

“The camp’s gonna need you both to help get past all of this. I know you won’t let them down.” They nodded and Dean pulled them into a three way hug, before clapping a hand to Cas’ neck. “You take care of Emma and Y/N, you promise?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. I will.” The angel’s bright blue eyes were dull, but his voice was strong and Dean knew he meant it with his whole angelic being.

Finally he turned to Y/N and Emma and his heart lurched at their tear stained faces, both so alike. As he approached them, Emma ran out of Y/N’s arms and he dropped to a knee so he could wrap his arms around her as she launched herself at him.

Her hot tears soaked into his jacket as sobs shuddered through her small frame. “Don’t go.” She whispered brokenly. Dean squeezed her tighter before he pulled her back so he could look at her. He brushed back her always unruly curls from her forehead and kissed her there. 

“I gotta go, kiddo. I’m so sorry.”

Emma took big hiccuping breaths as she responded. “Because of the bad man?” She said looking across the clearing at Zachariah.

Dean forced her to look away from the sadistic angel. “Yeah, baby, because of the bad man. But I…” He brushed away her tears from her cheeks. “Need you to know that I’d stay if I could. If I could, I’d never walk away from you. I swear.”

Emma nodded and he prayed she would remember that and be reassured that another father hadn’t just walked away from her.

He tried to smile, but worried she saw through it. He pulled her close again, and spoke quietly. “I love you bigger than big.”

Emma sniffed and spoke into the front of his shirt. “And taller than tall?”

He pulled away and managed a real smile as he cupped her cheeks. “And taller than tall.”

He stood up and took Emma’s hand, ushering her over to Risa who picked her up and rubbed the little girl's back as she sobbed. 

He moved towards Y/N, and stared at her for a moment, completely incapable of saying goodbye.

Y/N shook her head, her tears falling fat and fast. She looked slightly shell-shocked by everything that had happened in barely an hour. Her voice was shaky and thick.

“I don’t know what to…” She shook her head again. “This can’t possibly be happening.”

Zachariah’s bored tone cut between them. “Oh, it’s happening. And it better happen faster if we don’t want any more acts of God to occur.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly and then opened them to pull Y/N into his embrace. He lowered his voice so only she could hear, murmuring the words against her temple. 

“Don’t think about this. Don’t think about what’s happening. Instead imagine we’re still just lying in bed. I have my arms wrapped tightly around you and we’re both safe. We can hear Emma talking in her sleep across the room. Close your eyes and stay there, in that moment.” He pulled back to lean his forehead against hers. “Visit me there from time to time, okay?”

Y/N was nodding, and her breathing was ragged. But she reached up and kissed him gently. “This isn't goodbye. It can't be. I won’t believe it. So, as far as I’m concerned, we’ll be back there, in that moment soon.”

Dean gave her a tilted smile. “I love you, you know? I should have said it so much sooner, cause it’s been true for a long time.”

Y/N closed her eyes as though she was in pain. Maybe she was, he was; it felt like a ton of bricks was crushing his chest.

But he concentrated on her bright, red-ringed eyes as she spoke. “I love you too. So much.” Y/N’s tight smile crumpled and she fell back into his arms sobbing.

As Dean crushed her against him one last time, he could hear Zachariah groan in frustration and then begin chanting words in Enochian. The atmosphere began to change around them as the earth rumbled. Dean felt himself being pulled out of Y/N’s arms as Zachariah’s patience ran out and he yanked him away. 

“Don’t look at the light!” Dean called to Y/N as a blinding white light enveloped them all. He heard a kind of whispering in his mind, it wasn’t exactly words, but he understood it. It was a question.

He looked back at Y/N and Emma and gave the only answer that would keep them safe.

“Yes.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

[cherish--these--times]

Good evening. This is your little reminder that Detty is real and Daniel wrote this letter in his last MODE issue before going to London, as per the ABC website back in the day. THE LAST TWO PARAGRAPHS THO-

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR A Hundred Years of Attitude April 15, 2010

A hundred years is plenty of time for a lot to happen in anything. Political powers change hands and change back again, cultural movements evolve into something completely different, whole empires rise and fall. And yet, this is somehow even truer for the world of fashion, one in which a constant state of changing attitudes is implied by the very term itself. For a hundred years, Mode Magazine has been a leader, an ambassador, a harbinger, an opponent of and a champion for shifts in the way our society sees itself, and our next issue is a celebration of that complicated legacy.

Of course, an institution like Mode cannot even pretend to the throne of molding the attitudes of culture if it were not full of attitude itself. And attitude is one thing Mode has always had in abundance. To be honest, sometimes I feel as though we at Mode pack a hundred years worth of it into one day, especially since my co-Editor-in-Chief, Wilhelmina Slater, came on the scene. Ah, but I kid...

...And yet, I don't -- the truth is, the field of fashion is one that is both fast and fierce, and sometimes you have to go through a hundred years worth of attitudes in a day to find the one that suits the precise pulse of our culture at that given point. It's an amazing and arduous process, but, to be even more honest, it's one for which I admit I am not a natural fit, one for which Wilhelmina is.

Since I've experienced so much attitude in my time at Mode, I'd like to posit an observation: One thing that is often lost in the changing of an attitude is the cause for that change. This is best understood when you consider attitudes on a personal level. I ask you, dear reader, to think back to a time when you experienced a major shift in your life. Was it an external change, something that happened outside of you, and forced a change of attitude to help you adapt to the future? Perhaps you saw a friend demonstrate a prowess that cast her in a new light. Heck, maybe it was as simple as your friend getting a makeover. Or perhaps that friend was undergoing her own life change, one in which she would no longer be present in your life, compelling you to make your own change to keep her in it, even if it were in a new context.

Just as important: Maybe the change was an internal one. Maybe you realized you were no longer interested in maintaining your status quo. Perhaps you wanted to try new challenges not only in your professional life, but also in your personal one. Or maybe one day something just changed inside you in the way you saw that good friend, causing you to want her to be more than, well, just a friend.

As you experience our One Hundred Years of Attitude Issue, I ask that you consider not only the attitudes themselves, but the causes that precipitated their change and coming to be. Often the changes in attitude that are the most powerful are rooted in causes that come from without and within. When that unusual synergy occurs, love is often the result. And take it from me: Love is the one attitude that never goes out of fashion.     - Daniel Meade

@existential-labrador 💜

[pinkberrytea]

✨Writing Interview Tag Game✨

Eeee tysm for the tag @nyx-knox and @honeybee-bard! 🥹🙌❣️

When did you start writing?

I used to write fanfiction when I was 13 years old, but as an adult, this is actually my first time dabbling in creative writing! I released my first work back in April, crazy to think it’s been barely four months since I started!

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Horror and mystery are actually my favorite genres, though I'm not sure I'd be able to pull either off? I should give it a go one day, maybe!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

To be honest any comparisons at all would make me plenty happy since I barely consider myself a writer 😅 There are some people in the fandom who are endless sources of inspiration for me though, all authors in my recs list and ao3 bookmarks, for starters.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

No BG3 merch sadly, yet!

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Just daydreaming honestly. Also listening to music helps plenty! Researching lore and brainstorming ideas with friends too. But mostly just daydreaming!

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Hurt and comfort, and also angst. Lots of it, for some reason. It does surprise me how angsty all my writing ends up coming across, but I try to balance it out with some melodramatic fluff, I guess? I do want to try my hand at some less serious/more lighthearted themes eventually though, branch out a little!

What is your reason for writing?

Coping, mostly. Also as a sort of therapy, to sort out my feelings about themes that are important to me and that I’ve been processing through media. And no less relevant, simply as a self-indulgent outlet! I write what I myself would like to read.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Every single comment is incredibly motivating for me, but of course, I do twirl my hair and kick my feet whenever someone tells me about which passages they liked the best and how they specifically felt about a certain scene. Also, whenever people pick up on a detail I was sure would go by unnoticed!

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I want my readers to think of me as a friend, as someone who is always accessible and up for talking about writing, be it mine or just in general!

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Oh, this is a toughie. I have a very flowery and verbose style, though I’m not sure that’s a strength? I guess it could be, depending on your preferences. It’s a bit of a double-edged sword, really.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I don’t think highly of it from a technical standpoint, but I do pour my heart and soul into every single piece, and that makes them all special to me.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

I can sincerely say I write mostly for myself, otherwise I wouldn’t even be able to write anything at all because I don’t think I could live up to anyone’s expectations. Though of course, the feedback I receive on a piece may in fact influence whether I feel inspired to expand on it or just move on to something new. Even if I’m typically my own main target audience, comments are always greatly appreciated!

No pressure tags ✨ @locallegume, @judasiskariot, @inkymoonbunny, @starryjuicebox and @kalmiaphlox!

[tunastime]

Inbound, Outbound

The first submas fic I ever wrote! LOL I decided I needed one final thing for april fools so you get this fic from. about a month and a half ago! I think a lot has changed since I wrote this and I'd love to come back to the reuniting :3 maybe making it longer or what have you. but for now. here you go!

Sometimes when you wait for things, they come back to you. Sometimes they don't. Emmet continues life as normal as he can until the point in which the thing he's been waiting for the most finally does come back. Today just happens to be that day. (6745 words)

Ingo comes back on a winter day that Emmet would’ve otherwise forgotten.

It’s a pervasive winter in Nimbasa this year, the sky a white-blue, grey where it touches the edges of the buildings high above his morning train into the city center. Today is just as slow as usual, fifteen stretching into thirty, stretching in to forty-five minutes as people crush their way into the train car number eleven, Emmet’s favorite car on the six-in-the-morning inbound to Nimbasa commercial district. This train doesn’t go direct to Gear Station—it’s about four blocks from the city center. Which means that the train car is filled with grey and black suits, small children, and people in coats too thin or too bright for the weather. It’s his favorite car because if he looks over the few heads currently standing in front of him, he can see a poster with Elesa on it, advertising the Nimbasa Gym in bright, yellow and black letters. He doesn’t mind the length of the ride, really, even with the extra twenty minutes of walking.  It gives him enough time to think, whether that be better or worse. 

Emmet sniffles, pushing the scarf further up his nose, trying to keep in the heat. He can feel his face starting to red with the cold, and the subpar heat of the train car isn’t doing much help. He likes this car—he likes the whole system, because it runs so efficiently even with the stops, but he would like it a bit more if it were properly heated. He once bore Elesa to sleep talking about the rail system near their apartment complex in the city suburbs and art district, and after that he kind of kept it to himself and the engineers on shift.

The train car is still cold, and his scarf slips down his nose again as he adjusts his grip on the handle above him. Scrunching his face, he burrows into the collar of his coat and shrinks his shoulders to make space, shutting his eyes. He moves with the train car, as he does every morning, and sighs into the fabric of his coat. He files the cold away in the back of his mind. The train ride becomes routine, which means it fades into the background of his life, where everything rests mutely.

He might be somewhat of a celebrity, but the 6am is too crowded and too tired to notice him, or Ingo, or Elesa, for that matter. Elesa could live in the city center—running a gym is a lucrative business, and her clothing line, her brand deal, the posters with her face on them, even here in this train, raked in enough money to more than sustain on. Instead, Elesa lives two streets down from him (them) in a large apartment and she holds the crook of his arm on the train to keep steady. She didn’t this morning, though, which means Emmet has a little more stability where he stands, and a little less company. Not being recognized this morning means that he slips effortlessly from the train as the doors slide open, spilling out with other shoppers and business folk. He ducks through the exit as someone holds it open, and the smile on their face lingers a bit too long when they catch his eye. He thinks the words I’m sorry for your loss might come and hit him across the face, but they only nod. Emmet moves through the crowd alone again.

He makes his way carefully up the steps and onto the sidewalks of inner-Nimbasa, stepping with purpose as he stares down at his shoes. There’s a fine layer of ice and slush on the ground, but no snow. Anything that did fall just added to the grey slush on the side of the sidewalk, crunching under his boots as he walked. The cold still bites at his face as he makes his way down the block and across the street. He can still feel his fingers, though, which is a good sign. A few more streets of cold and slushy snow and trying to block the wind with his coat and he would be in the relative warmth of Gear Station, all tan marble and smooth floors. 

Winter. Of course the winter lingered. It was still winter when Emmet got off the train alone and it was still winter and cold and breezy and dark, now, as Emmet stood in his (their) office, watching the clock. 

5:45pm. He realizes he hasn’t eaten all day as a hard pang stabs through his stomach. Emmet takes a breath. It’s easy to fall into routine when nothing else seems to fit. It’s what he tells himself. He finds a way to make the day go faster, maybe looking for something at the end that wasn’t just the next day. He never had this issue before, waiting for the day to pass only for it to bleed into the next, and the next, and the next, and for the weekend to stutter and pause that blissful continuing trend. Work, go home, sleep, repeat. It gave no time to think about anything else—especially not Ingo.

It took longer the first year. Everything constantly pressed hard on the wound still open. He still remembers when everything shut down around him. It wasn’t winter then. It was spring, where the air still twinged cool, but he wasn’t kicking snow off his shoes before he entered the engineer’s office and ducked down the hall and to his and Ingo’s space. It was an almost instant halt, like throwing the emergency break. Emmet’s whole life screeched and threw up smoke. 

He remembers the first time someone questioned him that wasn’t the city police, staring up at him, mouth moving with words he didn’t understand. He stuttered, unable to form an answer to what do you think happened? How was he supposed to know? How was he supposed to put pieces together when he felt like he had been smashed into star fragments?

The subway shut down for three months straight. He could barely pick himself out of bed, and when he did, he couldn’t make it out of the door. He remembers lying in the dark for far too long, turning off his phone so no calls came through. The day bled into night and into the next day, with no routine, no operating procedure. Everything in his life revolved around Ingo—and now there was a distinctly Ingo shaped hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. He remembers crawling his way out of the comforters and making it to the threshold of his bedroom door, sinking to the ground and staying there. It was only when Elesa made her way in that he moved, coaxed onto the couch to drink a glass of water. There were days where neither of them spoke. Elesa would set a duffel in the corner of Emmet’s room and a toothbrush in his bathroom and wordlessly, the space became hers too. Half asleep one night, she mumbled, very quietly, that it had been days since she’d had the energy to battle. The Nimbasa gym waitlist had grown to fifteen people. He said he was sorry. She laughed like she meant it. Tired. They were tired. Life moved on without them for a while. He held Elesa’s hand.

Every dark coat had been him, every set of stripes, every loud and hearty laugh. The space in their fridge, in their bathroom, on their couch, the spaces Elesa subconsciously left when she visited, all stayed like he might appear and fill them. At some point the spaces became memories, and the memories became a dull ache. The dull ache let him work, and the work became an ache instead. And then he started looking for answers. When he found none, he just kept looking.

He hangs up his white coat, noise from Gear Station trickling into the background. He puts his hat on the hook next to it. 

He is Emmet. He feels okay today.

He combs his hair back with his fingers, stepping back to navigate around to his desk, shutting off the computer screen and moving through the familiar motions of packing away his day. Eelektross snuffs, sleeping curled around his chair, still nursing a singe from their last battle. The rest of his team are tucked away in pokeballs, neatly set into the bag still resting on the desk. He runs a hand over the scales on Eelektross’ head, listening to the snort turn into a purr, long and rumbly. At least someone’s enjoying themselves. He leans against his desk. 

“Excellent job today, Eelektross,” he says. “Too good.”

Eelektross rumbles out an affirmative sound Emmet’s learned to recognize over the years. Tired and comfortable and thoroughly pleased. He’ll be sleeping under a huge eel weight tonight, most likely, which would be good for them both.

From the corner, Chandelure chirps. He glances up, watching her tilt lazily back and forth, flame flickering under the office’s lamplight. He raises his eyebrows, tilting his head at her.

“Ah—” he says. “I forgot, Chandelure. Is it time for the rounds, then?”

She chirps again, twirling in place. She nearly bumps the wall, moving out of the way as she remembers how much space she actually takes up. Emmet snorts, shaking his head. He rises from his leaning on the desk, shaking the feeling back into his right leg.

Gathering his coat and hat again, he pulls it over his shoulders, and opens the office door for Chandelure.

The two wander out into the filling-full train station. It’s busy now that so many are leaving work, Gear Station echoing with his footsteps and the tired laughter and voices of patrons filing in and out of the turnstiles. As he steps out, the noise is almost instant. Ah—he caught departing crowds at the wrong time, as the battle subway came to a close at the days end and people were busy reassigning themselves and marking their places for tomorrow. The energy in the station is bright and cheery. He lifts his hat, waving one hand, smiling with just his mouth. Chandelure spins, singing to herself. He offers a little bow as he departs, listening to cheers of his name until he manages to slip into the service stairs and away from the light and the noise.

He follows the familiar service corridor where it diverges from the central station, staring up into the rafters and eyes tracking across the windows high above him. Night trickles in, noise obscured by layers of stone and brick and marble. The stretch of granite towers above him, echoing the flicker of pride he feels swirling in his chest. Chandelure twirls ahead of him, leading him down to the closed lines as his eyes drag away from pidove in the rafters, cooing to themselves.

It’s important to walk the lines at night—mostly for the host of patrat and joltik and the occasional drilbur that liked to make the tunnels their home, but also to check that each car remained stationary, that light still flooded the dim tunnels, that someone wasn’t trapped. It wasn’t always his job—not with so many that staffed Gear Station, both above and below him. Maintenance often fell to him when it was needed, where he lingered in the office long after his scheduled shift end, when the last outbound train returned. 

The stairs down are quieter and darker than the rush of energy and light and cold air above him in Gear Station. 

Emmet starts his way toward the platform. Whatever he couldn’t find in the tunnels today, Eelektross would find later tomorrow morning, well before the first battle train. It was good he didn’t have to worry about the main tracks as often—not for checks and not for maintenance. He would mourn his sleep schedule much more than he already did if that were the case. Walking those initial tunnels would take him hours, knowing how far the service platform stretched.

Emmet doesn’t like this part of his job. It was always Ingo’s job. Everything seemed like it was Ingo’s job, now that it rested on his shoulders. When they’d first pitched the idea of the subway to the head of Gear Station at the time, it had been a risk Ingo automatically assumed. When he ran the night shift, safety checks were his duty, as much as they were Emmet’s in the morning. They’d assist with repair and management of the rest of the station as needed, falling into step alongside fellow engineers. There’s a small group in this tunnel now—voices echoing down the small corridor as he travels its length, a drilbur perched on their feet, warily inspecting a section of track. He supposed he considered himself lucky—any scheduled repairs to the Battle Subway could be completed shortly after the subway retired for the day, meaning he could be present if anything went wrong. This bit of maintenance was purely preventative—making sure nothing would be jostled loose by a rogue Earthquake.

Emmet ducks passed the group, nodding along as they toss bits of information his way, wishing him a good night.

Fetching the flashlight from his pocket, Emmet smacks it against his hand. The beam flickers to life, illuminating the tunnel in front of him far more than the stretch of yellow floodlights above his head. He sweeps the beam around the tunnel, listening for anything or anyone.

Emmet makes his way off the main platform and into the tunnel proper, along the service grate, eyes following the tracks. He stands at the edge of the platform for a moment, gazing into an empty car, light shining through. It reflects off the posters and signage inside, dull yellow where the lights inside don’t shine. He shivers. The air feels cold and charged, like a stray joltik had crawled up his neck and now rested in the collar of his coat. He turns the collar out, sweeping with one hand. No joltik. Rolling his shoulders back, Emmet steps back from the car and continues onward. A few feet ahead of him, Chandelure twirls idly, like she’s waiting for him to catch up. He waves the beam of the flashlight at her and she startles, chirring out, annoyed. 

“You can check on your own if you don’t want to wait,” he tells her. 

She warbles, waving her arms back and forth. He makes an affirmative noise.

“That’s what I thought.”

The large loop stretches further on to his left, where he can’t see, blocked by the stretch of railcar. He follows Chandelure through the space between the cars, ducking his head as they step onto the opposing platform, and continue their way back up. He pauses for a moment as they do, feeling his body go light as his head spins. He reaches out to the side wall, hand against the cold stone as he takes a long breath. Emmet blinks back spots for a moment, shaking his head gently. His stomach feels like its in knots, rolling over itself as he seems to settle from his moment of vertigo. No lunch will do that to you, he supposes.

Chandelure flickers. They’re almost done, which is good. It means he’ll be able to sit down for a second before he has to run to the train. They won’t need to check the two-team tunnel tonight—not only has Emmet not been able to run it, he checked it two weeks ago. He lingered a very long time in there, didn’t he? It had put a terrible ache in his chest enough to call Elesa to walk him home. Emmet frowns—Chandelure flickers again, dimming, brightening, dimming, brightening again. There’s that rush of dizziness again. He breathes out. He’s too far in his head, today, isn't he?

“Chandelure,” he says, in a way that almost reminds him of Ingo—a little out of breath from walking, but mostly just curious. “Is something wrong?”

She chimes, wobbling in place, eyes narrowing. It feels hesitant. Emmet shudders. After a beat, he reaches up, placing a hand on the near-glass surface of Chandelure’s body. She moves back toward him, chiming again.

“Right,” he says. “It’s different, right? Something’s changed.”

Another chirp.

Something tugs at his mind. Wasn’t there something he read about clairvoyance in pokemon? Future-telling, future-seeing, or whatever. But Chandelure’s behavior isn’t indicative of anything. That would just be odd. He can feel for just a moment the way his heart thumps a little faster against the line of his jaw. It couldn’t be that. It’s just what Elesa always said—he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

“Yyyyep-yep,” he says, mostly under his breath, voice thick. “But it should be fine, Chandelure. Let’s keep going, our track moves forward.”

She tilts back and forth, like a wave of a hand. Emmet snorts as they start forward. 

“You know I’m always one for a battle,” he says plainly. She chirrs, moving around to his right side, putting herself between the train car and Emmet. He follows her movement only for a second as they walk up the tracks, eyes still fixed on the steps up to the station. 

The city subway still rumbles through the ground and the walls around him, the noise soft and consistent as train cars move past. He pauses, listening in, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was late, now. He could feel a tired ache seeping into the creases of his elbows and right under his knees from standing all day. His head was starting to hurt, spinning as he stood completely still. He sighs roughly, squeezing his eyes tightly for just a moment. He’s lucky the pain didn’t extend to his feet—he would have to do quite the jog to catch the outbound train toward home, unless Elesa happened to be staying late again and could walk him back.

They start together toward the entrance as Emmet does his final scan of the furthest-out platform, satisfied nothing is out of place. The same cold air of the train tunnels permeates even here, despite the warm wash of yellow light across the walls and marble pillars. Emmet breathes in, the weight of the day settling on his shoulders as he stretches over his head, screwing up his face as his back pulls. He nearly complains—he feels much too old for this—but he can feel the sharp poke of Ingo’s voice in his mind—well, I’m two minutes older, so you can imagine how I feel—and it stops him pretty quickly. He’s not even thirty-five. What can he do but complain, right? Emmet fishes his keys from his pocket prematurely, ducking between the cars as he steps onto the loading platform.

Chandelure stops ahead of him. Her trill is quiet as Emmet reaches her side.

 There is a man standing on the platform. 

Emmet is very good at telling cosplayers from the real thing. You would think that would be some sort of a joke, but they really like to be authentic. Ingo and him never sold any merchandise of their coats or hats for fear of, well, that. This. Whatever this person was doing, standing on the closed platform in a ruined coat that looked like Ingo’s. 

Emmet swallows. Looks like and not is, right? Looks like and not. Not. Certainly not. Not when he turns and catches his eye. The breath lodges itself in Emmet’s throat, burning hot. Certainly not. Because he is very good at telling illusions from real life, and there are no dark types in the tunnels that can use copycat, and copycat can’t extend the likeness of himself onto another person who looks. Like. Who looks like his brother. And isn’t. Emmet tries to breathe. The breath is sharp on his teeth. His hands are shaking when his vision blurs, and he smears tears across his face.

Ingo looks frightened for a moment. When he looks into Emmet’s eyes, the grey looks washed out. Emmet breathes out, feeling it catch as he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. There’s. It’s like nothing moves behind his eyes. Not a faint light of understanding. Not a spark of clarity. Ingo places a foot behind him. The line of Emmet’s spine goes cold all at once.

He stands still as he watches a slow realization pass over his brother’s face like a red flush, some flicker in his expression, before he sees his chest seize and breath stutter. Ingo blinks hard and fast, like it might be helping something, eyes flicking over Ingo’s face. He reaches forward, as if he’s expecting to push through Emmet and into air instead, and not the solid body he stands there with. It’s like his body moves before he realizes what’s actually happening. Emmet watches his movements, still calculated in the same way as they’ve always been. Emmet drags in a breath, sniffling hard. 

The lines of Ingo’s face pull. Emmet reaches out to him, copying. It’s what he’s always done—what they’ve always done. He steps forward, lurching to meet him.

The mirror image of himself, his brother, his Ingo, collides with him hard. Emmet feels him crumple into his arms as he drags him forward, arms locking around his ribcage. He squeezes Ingo tight to him. They buckle, Ingo leaning into him for support as his body is wracked with sobs. Emmet struggles to breathe as he sinks to his knees, smearing dirt and dark grime over his white pant-knees and boots.

Ingo’s hands fist in his coat as they fall. He squeezes Emmet in his arms, fighting for breath as he presses his face into his shoulder. Emmet laughs and it morphs into sobs. He turns his face into the tattered collar of Ingo’s coat and squeezes his eyes shut. Ingo. Ingo. Always Ingo. The bony joints of his elbows digging into his ribs as a kid, crushing him with his weight when he lost a pokemon battle, standing in his bedroom door at night when he had a nightmare. Cooking beside him, picking up his coffee, watching him tie Emmet’s tie around his own neck before passing it back to him. His brother Ingo, breathing too shallowly under his hands as he holds him, shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. He can feel the bones of his spine and shoulderblades, sharp and protruding even through several layers of fabric. His face looked so pale and thin. But Ingo holds him tightly, much tighter than he ever remembers, and it’s not just fear or relief or grief holding him to that strength, either. Emmet wheezes out, word unforming in his throat.

It’s not a nightmare. It feels real and warm and solid, like Ingo, like the platform under his knees, like the cold breeze on the back of his neck. Ingo may look different, far too gaunt for Emmet’s liking (and he supposes, now, that it may be like looking in a mirror, and he wonders how many bones Ingo can feel under his coat) but it’s him. No illusion or actor would crumble like this. It couldn’t be some sick joke—right?

He manages out words, and the first thing he chokes out through tears, voice warbling hard, is:

“Ingo—”

“Emmet,” Ingo grits out. 

“I am Emmet—” Emmet says weakly. “You are Ingo. You are real.”

“I—” Ingo chokes. “I am. I’m real.”

Ingo certainly feels that way. The breath echoes in his lungs, damp and wobbly. Emmet can feel his heart slam against his ribcage. He feels so small in his arms but he shakes with the effort of keeping himself stable and with the effort of holding on. He can feel his shoulders move and the way his tears have started to soak through Emmet’s coat and shirt. He’s real. 

Emmet laughs weakly, equally as wet.

“You are very strong,” he says softly, sniffling in, almost amused. “What happened to my brother?”

Ingo laughs. Emmet feels a new wave of tears bubble up in his chest and in his eyes. He presses his face into his shoulder a little more, like it were possible.

“Too much,” Ingo says, voice pitching. “Much too much.”

Emmet sighs into his shoulder, a sound he doesn’t think Ingo’s ever heard before. Ingo’s seen him cry a few times, especially when they were kids, but Ingo was always the more emotional of the two. This sound is such an odd mix of relief and grief and exhaustion pulled from his chest, like all the energy had trickled out of him.

Emmet holds tight to his brother in front of him, words not surfacing like they should. He only manages the weak sobs pressed into the collar of his coat. He screws his eyes shut again, clinging onto Ingo’s coat. The tile is cold and unyielding under his knees. Burning starts to prickle through his shins. Real feelings. Real sensations. Something to tether himself to. Ingo sniffles, coughing damply. He lets his body deflate a touch. Emmet’s chest twists and squeezes tight enough around his heart he feels it shove its way into his voice-box and beat there, pattering away.

“It’s you,” Emmet finally shudders out, voice breaking, sounding much more fragile than he wants to allow. Ingo burrows closer like it may do something. Emmet squeezes him. “Go-Go, please tell me this is real.”

“I promise,” Ingo manages. “I swear it.”

“You do?”

“You are Emmet,” he says slowly, sniffling. “I am your brother. I am real.”

“Good—” Emmet shudders. “Good.”

Ingo makes a pained noise, sighing out to his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. Emmet shakes his head, stilted from where he rests it.

“Don’t be sorry. Just—” he trails off. Just. Don’t leave again. Yeah.

Ingo nods slowly. After a moment he says:

“You are real,” in a half questioning tone. Emmet nods.

“I am. I am not a dream,” he says, huffing out a wet laugh. “You can pinch me.”

Ingo snorts.

“That’s not how that works,” He argues, own voice damp and amused. Emmet thumps his back between his shoulderblades.

“Go-Go,” he complains. Ingo wheezes. This feels so familiar it hurts.

“Sorry,” Ingo says, but the tone that leaks into his voice sounds like he’s very much not sorry. “I’m sorry.”

Emmet huffs again, soft and brittle.

“Ingo, I missed you,” he manages. “I missed you so much. So very much.”

“I know,” Ingo says softly, relaxing his hands, splaying them out over Emmet’s coat. “And yet you kept the subway running in my absence—” he huffs, amused. “Bravo.”

Emmet laughs once, just a small little sound, before it turns back into sobs, muffled against Ingo’s tattered coat. He leans his weight back as much as he can, trying to pull Ingo further into his arms, as if it were possible. Light cascades around them as Chandelure floats over, chiming softly to herself. Ingo pats Emmet’s back, running a little line over his shoulderblades as they sit together. He feels Ingo shift, as if he’s turned his head toward his Chandelure. Warmth blossoms in his chest. 

Ingo mumbles out something Emmet almost hears. 

“She took your absence very hard,” Emmet says, trying to add to a conversation he hadn’t heard.

Ingo sighs, short and soft. They’re less holding on and more leaning, now. 

“Oh,” he says softly. It’s all he says before he turns his head back into his shoulder. Emmet pats his back. He feels like someone’s taken toothpicks to his nerves. Why does it hurt? Why does Ingo sound so lost?

He leans back from Ingo, but he doesn’t let go. His hands find his shoulders, pulling away enough to see him properly. Emmet’s eyes scan his face. They’re the same grey as he’s always known them, but so much more tired, now, deep lines and dark circles around the bottom. He’s frowning, just a little, eyes still red-rimmed from crying, tears still falling haphazardly. Ingo sniffles. His hair lies the same, despite being unkept, and he’s got a terrible facial hair situation going on, like he’d forgotten how to use a razor. When Emmet studies him, Ingo’s face goes soft. He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but shuts it when Emmet frowns. 

“Ingo,” Emmet says, frown deepening, eyebrows furrowing. He sniffles. He prods at the hollow of his cheek, looking perplexed. “You look horrible, like someone’s shaken twenty pounds off you.”

“Ah,” Ingo says, looking away.

“You may be much stronger than you were, but you look like you may fall over if I let you go.”

Ingo swallows. His expression morphs a few times, until he shuts his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I might.”

“Ah!” Emmet says, holding to his shoulders a bit tighter. Ingo smiles, just the sides of his mouth lifting. It feels right. “Don’t.”

Ingo snorts.

“I’ll try.”

Emmet nods, mouth a fine line. Ingo’s eyes flick over his face, this time. Emmet feels like pokemon under a magnifying glass being scrutinized. Ingo watches as Emmet blinks tears away, watches them track over his face, and watches as he reaches up to wipe them. Emmet shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softening at the end unexpectedly. He swallows down a wave of cold guilt. Ingo’s hands clasp around his biceps.

“Emmet—” he starts.

“It’s okay,” Emmet manages out, expression cracking. He sniffles in, pulling in a fast breath as he does. He hears it catch, feels the shudder than comes with it. “You—it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Ingo says meekly, loosening his grip. Emmet’s wobbly smile falters, just for a moment.

“That’s good,” Emmet sighs. He blinks a few times, sniffs again, wipes at his face. Ingo’s hands fall away from his arms and into his own lap.

The frown lingers on Ingo’s face long after he’s dropped his hands. Emmet rises to a slow, shaky stand. Stuffing his gloves in his pocket, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, giving Ingo a watery smile. When Ingo looks up at him, Emmet feels something click into his chest, warm, full, and settling. He smiles wider, enough to feel his eyes start to squint shut, enough to watch Ingo copy him, and the smile looks so natural on his face. It’s good. This is good. This. Feels. Good. It feels good.

“I don’t think you should sit on the floor anymore, Ingo,” Emmet says. He extends his hand.

“I think I’m a bit too old for it,” Ingo tells him. Ingo takes it. He holds his warm hand, half palm and half wrist. Emotion tumbles in his chest, painfully tight, as he leads Ingo toward the tunnel entrance. 

There’s something Ingo isn’t saying. Emmet knows it’s important. It’s not important enough to say now, that is, but he can feel it in the air of Ingo next to him as they duck into the empty station, back to the office, away from eyes that might say something before Emmet is ready to let the world know who showed up at his doorstep. It’s fine if Ingo doesn’t remember his pokemon, or the layout of Gear Station, or how he should feel, or where he’s been. He can’t ask him to. Not when there was a moment where Ingo couldn’t remember him, no matter how brief. He pushes fear deep into his chest and refuses to let it rise up.

He won’t let them diverge. He won’t let Ingo derail.

Whatever happens next, he’s not letting go of him.

The night comes easier than most.

It starts with Emmet sending a text—it’s last minute, which he despises, but he informs the head of the station that he isn’t feeling well and won’t be in at work for the next few days. He receives a spaced, but enthusiastic reply, and a reminder to use his sick time before he loses it. Probably better that he’s taking more days rather than less. Emmet feeds their pokemon, moving around the kitchen as he hears the shower running in the room across from his own. Busying himself with routine means he worries a little less about the question tugging at his mind, or the rush of anxiety and energy as he remembers everything, replaying it over and over again in his head. What if it isn’t Ingo that steps from the room? What if he looks completely different? What if—

Galvantula bumps his hand, nibbling at his sleeve. He’s still holding the bowl of food. He sets it on the floor as instructed, briefly pulled away from his thought.

Now, situated in the living room, a takeout bag rests on the coffee table, where Emmet is sitting next to the table, pulling out foil wrapped sandwiches and bags of chips and a too-shaken can of soda. He’s been watching Ingo’s face for a good part of the evening, seeing as lines come and go, how the sharp shape worsens when he frowns. Now, in a thick, high collared sweater and pajamas, grime scrubbed away with a hot shower, Ingo looks very small, and very alive, and very cold. Emmet pokes him with a socked foot as Ingo takes another ravenous bite of his egg and cheese sandwich. He has egg yolk all over his hands and down his chin.  

“I am Emmet,” he says, an awed smile lingering on his face. “And I am certain you are going to choke if you eat that fast.”

Ingo blinks, still chewing. Maybe two sandwiches was the right move after all. Emmet hasn’t touched the one he bought for himself yet. He’s been too busy making sure Ingo drinks a glass of water. Ingo flushes, though, as he realizes he’s made an runny-egg mess of the plate balanced on his knee. He looks sheepishly away, searching for something to wipe his hands with. When he can’t find anything, he sets the sandwich down, and wanders back to the kitchen.

“It’s like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Emmet remarks. His stomach flips a bit at the implication, wondering when the last time Ingo actually had a warm meal in his body. He realizes he doesn’t even know where he’s been. What could be wrong with him. What he’d seen. He seems dazed, a bit lost, a bit spacey. It had taken him a good thirty seconds to recognize Emmet on that platform—though, if Emmet’s honest with himself, and he often tries to be, he isn’t much better. He’d swallowed down confusion just as fast as he could, and that was only a moment before he’d thrown himself at his brother. Ingo’s shoulders are a tense line.

“I’ve eaten,” Ingo says.

“Good.”

When Ingo wanders back over, sitting in his same spot, Emmet pushes the glass of water toward him. Ingo nods, smiling a little as he picks it up and takes a long drink. After he’s finished and set the glass down, Emmet starts on his sandwich. Between his first bite of hashbrown and egg and the next, he says:

“Ingo,” followed by. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

The two go quiet, even with the sound of foil and sandwiches. Ingo swallows, staring into his patterned plate. Emmet watches his face as much as he did prior. He can tell when a pause is calculated for drama, for intrigue, for embellishment, but this one is full of Ingo’s mind scrambling. Emmet can’t see it in action, but he can certainly imagine a million Ingo’s running around in his brain space, trying to compose an answer for Emmet that would satisfy him. Ingo takes another bite in the meantime.

Emmet stares into bits of potato in the foil on his lap. They’re not very interesting.

“What happened?” he asks softly, not looking up at him. He hears Ingo sigh, and sees him put the plate down in his peripheral.

“I—” Ingo starts, and the stutter of his voice is indicative of something very clear to Emmet.

“Ingo,” he says, looking up suddenly. “Don’t.”

Ingo swallows. His throat bobs. Emmet doesn’t even have to finish his sentence.

“I’ve forgotten everything,” Ingo says, in a way that is so un-Ingo-like. “Almost everything. It’s just—there. Right out of reach. Right out of my reach.”

The television casts color across Ingo’s face, obscuring his expression. Emmet fights to keep his expression cool and neutral, despite the way his heart begs to jump into his throat and throw a party. He has a sandwich to eat, not a heart. Silly heart. Silly Emmet. He supposes now that’s why Ingo’s reaction to Chandelure was so stunted. Or the way he skirted away from the station like it may reach out and pinch him like a dwebble. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly.

“I don’t know why,” Ingo continues, picking at the seeds on top of his bagel. “I don’t know how, either. And I don’t think I can stomach the where and what, yet. I feel sick when I think too hard. Dizzy and sick.”

Emmet swallows roughly.

“It’s okay,” he says. Ingo shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Emmet watches his face warp, faltering as he holds back whatever emotion’s just bubbled up in his chest. He screws his eyes shut, new tears dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. “Go, listen—”

Emmet reaches. He brushes Ingo’s hand, and Ingo jerks back on instinct, recoiling. He looks at Emmet, expression blank, nervous, then cracking all at once. Emmet’s own face falters as they meet eyes. Emmet holds his hand over Ingo’s, waiting, still crouching in front of him. He tries for a smile, even as Ingo goes blurry.

“I’m glad you remembered me,” he warbles out. “We can keep going from there. Our tracks move forward.”

“I don’t believe my car in this two car train is very safe, Em,” Ingo sniffles. He takes Emmet’s hand, though, and Emmet curls his fingers over his, both hands around his one hand. He squeezes ever so.

“We’re known for our safety checks, brother,” Emmet says gently. “It’s just our standard operating procedure.”

Ingo laughs softly. The sound is damp, but real. Trying to be something positive. It’s all he can ask of him.

“Understood,” Ingo says. He nods, setting his face, despite the way tears still cloud his eyes, and his mouth still wobbles as he sniffles in. “We shall depart then.”

“We will!” Emmet says, squeezing his hands again. He drops them, then, patting Ingo’s knees like he were beating on the table. Ingo huffs out a laugh, shooing him away.

It doesn’t hurt any less, knowing how much might be absent. But it soothes it a bit to watch Ingo smile.

Later, sitting on the couch together, Ingo rests against Emmet, sandwiches eaten, chips picked through, water drank. His face has regained a touch of color, hands no longer shaking with exertion. He breathes slowly and softly as Emmet flips through television mindlessly, looking for anything. To his left, Eelektross snores, head resting on his knee. He runs a hand absently along the scales at the top of his head, listening to the drone of purr and the chatter of late night television.

“Brother,” Emmet says softly. “Ingo.”

Ingo makes no sound. His breath stays even and slow. Emmet snorts. Right. He supposes it’s payback—he can’t remember the amount of times he’d fallen asleep during movie night with Elesa. 

Elesa. 

Emmet startles.

Reaching for his phone, he hastily manages a message to Elesa. Something like: Come over ASAP. Good news. Very good. About Ingo.

 But his message reads in all lowercase like a run-on sentence, so he hopes in the morning Elesa will decipher it.

Emmet leans back, Ingo’s sleeping weight falling to Emmet’s side as he lies down on the couch cushions. His brother only partially adjusts in his sleep, better tucking into one side, head on his shoulder. Warm with sleep and food, Emmet lets his eyes unfocus. There’s too much static resting right under his skin to let him sleep. 

This is good, though. A moment of reprieve for him, and desperately needed for Ingo. Maybe in the morning they’ll talk about getting rid of that ridiculous beard of his.

Emmet hums softly to himself. He listens to the drone of the television for a moment, blissfully tired. There’s a moment of quiet just long enough to feel sleep tug at him.

Someone pounds on his door.

Ah. Well.

Miscalculation on his part, then.

[dandylovesturtles]

100 Feet and A World Away Lore Post

I said before if I won the first round of the TMNT AU Competition I'd put up a lore post of my separated (kinda) AU called "100 Feet and A World Away," which is really more of a reward for myself because now I get to ramble about my babies.

This is an AU I've been building in my head for some time and do eventually want to write a fic about. When? I do not know I have soooo many things I'm in the middle of right now but! hopefully! eventually!

So for now here's just some lore because I can't contain myself, I have to talk about this eventually haha. Like releasing a pressure valve.

without further ado

100 Feet and A World Away (a separated (kinda) AU) (aka the Shape of Water AU)

cw: dehumanization, child abuse (not by a parental figure), brief dismemberment (caused by Donnie, not TO him)

Backstory

quick note: in this AU the age gap between April and the boys is bigger than in canon because it just made things logistically easier; April is 20 and the boys are their S1 ages (15/14/13)

everything up through Lou Jitsu escaping with the boys from Draxum's lab happens as in canon

a few years later (when the boys are about 5/4/3), Splinter goes out to get supplies, leaving the boys in what he thinks (hopes) is a safe place (he doesn't have a lot of choices). He comes back to find the boys have disappeared.

he won't know what happened to them for 10 years

they were spotted by a human sanitation worker, who called animal control, who were like "what the hell is this" and got a Shady Military-affiliated Corporation involved. The boys are taken to a lab to be studied and, once their sturdiness and combat potential are observed, trained to be used for combat by the US Military.

the boys didn't go quietly, at least not Raph and Donnie, who viciously bit and tried to run; they were shocked and sedated. Leo, who had Mikey, saw this and decided to comply because he didn't want them to hurt his little brother. Mikey was too young to understand what was happening so his reaction was mostly just to cry.

Splinter had told the boys never to talk to humans, and the boys take this to heart, hushing up and never speaking to the humans even once they're taken to the lab. As a result, the humans know they have large brains but still assume they only have the intelligence of an ape at best. They treat them like animals, really the comparison I keep thinking of is the raptors in Jurassic World lol: something scary but with the hopes that they will eventually act like attack dogs.

to be clear revealing they could talk wouldn't have helped them much so it's for the best

the boys are given serial numbers when they arrive at the lab but the scientists call them by numbers as a shorthand based on the order they were processed in:

Mikey is Turtle 1

Leo is Turtle 2

Raph is Turtle 3

Donnie is Turtle 4

because Raph and Donnie acted aggressively, the scientists were afraid they would attack each other as well as Leo and Mikey, so they decided to isolate the two of them. On the flip side, because Leo and Mikey were more docile and Leo kept holding onto Mikey, they decided to keep the two of them together. An experiment in isolation vs socialization

as a result, the boys have not seen each other for the last decade, with the exception of two Incidents that I won't be detailing in this post (gotta keep a few secrets lol)

the boys are put through harsh training in an attempt to "tame" them and train them to attack/kill soldiers as ordered. they're also run through tests to determine things like their mental capacity and problem solving skills. there's no like medical testing/experimentation on them in this AU though it's mostly like if they do bad they get shocked and also the scientists/trainers don't really have compunctions against hitting them or muzzling them.

when not in training they live in their own zoo-like enclosures inside sterile rooms, much like the one in Shape of Water which is part of why the AU is the Shape of Water AU lol

MEANWHILE

April is an aspiring investigative journalist who just saw her first success uncovering some shady dealings in a supposedly non-profit organization

she receives a tip about something strange happening in an otherwise normal lab and testing facility just outside NYC's city limits

she's expecting to find illegal animal testing or bioweapons research

instead she finds Turtle Four

Donnie

has been isolated this whole time and as a result is more than a little feral, but not so much that he can't talk. he just has absolutely no sense of social etiquette (my inspiration is the bit in Rat Flu where he says "Make him say yessssah" and HEY BOY IT'S ME THE PS5-)

also he's still autistic but he hasn't learned to mask at all so he acts in a way the humans find weird and unsettling

thinks the humans around him are all idiots and he's so much smarter and better than them. basically his canon superiority complex has ratcheted up to 100 because he has no respect for these guys at all

makes regular escape attempts so lab security just keeps adding more and more obstacles (like an electric fence around his enclosure and steel doors to the room)

probably could have escaped by now but he always doubles back for his brothers and that's how he always gets caught by The Hunter

not as good with tech as his canon counterpart but only because he hasn't been allowed to read or study anything while he's been stuck here, so he only knows as much as he's pieced together messing with things in his enclosure and observing the humans. he's learned a LOT even this way (which is why he knows he's a genius!) but his thirst for knowledge is immense and he wants to get out so he can read books! break things and put them back together! use the internet!

has built up an entire imagined scenario of how things will be once he finally does break himself and his brothers out of there and I'm sure that everything will go exactly how he's expecting and there will be no hiccups at all :)

no longer has any attachment to the name Donatello and thinks of himself as Turtle Four, though he does remember being called Purple too

thinks their dad has abandoned them and doesn't really have any hope that he's looking for them

has a lot of scars on his body from his many many escape attempts and punishments, but most noticeably a scar along his jaw on the left side of his face

Leo

has been with Mikey this whole time so is still much more socialized, lucid, and "human" acting compared to Donnie

has poured all his energy since coming here into being Mikey's Big Brother and making sure things are safe and comfortable for him, being upbeat and positive for his sake, trying to make him laugh and keep him happy to the best of his ability, and generally just doing his normal canon thing but pushed to 11

this façade is the only thing keeping him going and god help him if it cracks

the scientists realized early on that it's easier to get Leo to comply if they threaten/hurt Mikey so Leo is scared of going out of line and just a big ball of guilt 24/7

due to An Incident he has a scar on the right side of his face that matches Donnie, and he doesn't particularly trust Donnie as a result. wishes he would stop his escape attempts because it makes the scientists cranky and they take it out on him and Mikey

still insists their dad is coming for them, if only to keep Mikey's hopes alive

inwardly pretty sure they're going to die here

is the only one who has seen Raph since their initial separation and refuses to talk about it

I'll Keep These Feelings Inside And Then I'll Die

still fully associates with the name Leo

Mikey

fully aware that Leo's putting on act for his sake, but if being a Big Brother is what he needs to keep going then he'll be the Little Brother he needs

knows it's unhealthy but what are they supposed to do?

feels guilt for being used as leverage against Leo

fascinated by humans even though he knows they hurt him regularly

once he saw a scientist doodling and his mind expanded by 1000%. the scientist drew him eventually and he's wanted so bad to do art ever since

the previous bullet point sounds like it's leading to a wholesome interaction but it is not, I'm sorry I mislead you

not as sure that their dad will save them as he lets Leo think he is; he has faith that their dad loves them and is still looking for them but also thinks Donnie is right that they should be helping themselves so they can get back to him

generally has more faith in their brothers than Leo does

can destroy you but chooses not to

still fully associates with the name Mikey

Raph

has gone full savage; it's a defense mechanism

his memories are still there, but they're so deep in his mind he currently only accesses them as vague feelings and sensations

still knows his family by scent, if not by sight

gentle giant when he's surrounded by Familiar Smells, very very aggressive when surrounded by Unfamiliar Smells

he's so dangerous the scientists don't interact with him much, which doesn't help the situation

thinks of himself as "it," when he thinks of himself at all

uncovering the real Raph would take a safe place and time and patience and he isn't getting any of that here!

April

was just trying to live her life man

dating Sunita but presently bummed that Sunita has rejected her suggestion that they move in together (it's because Sunita hasn't broken the whole "I'm actually a slime monster" news to her yet and isn't sure how, but April doesn't know that so she just thinks Sunita isn't as serious as she is)

when she meets Donnie he scares the absolute shit out of her at first

her first instinct is to get away from this whole mess ASAP, but then she realizes Donnie is just a kid and she can't just leave him in there

then he reveals he has 3 brothers and no he is NOT leaving without them

what has she gotten herself into...

is undoubtedly and irrevocably Big Sis April by the end

Splinter

never once stopped looking

finally found a lead that seemed legit but would need a human to help him get inside

found out about a young intrepid reporter looking for tips........

and that's all I'll say now ;)

The Hunter

basically the evil Robert Muldoon (from Jurassic Park)

I haven't named him yet sorry

his job is to catch the turtles if they escape, and he also participates in their training

fully aware that the turtles are more intelligent than they let on, thinks this just makes them more exciting to hunt

Donnie is basically his archnemesis (having a 14-year-old archnemesis is kind of cringe though bro)

will hurt them and doesn't feel bad about it

is missing a finger thanks to Donnie (I did say this was a Shape of Water inspired AU lol)

This was probably a little thin in places so if you are interested and have questions ask me! Wheeeeeeee~

[daily-rayless]

25 Years of Rosa

I've been doing this character appreciation series for a while now, and it's about time we got to a very special character – the first character from the first JRPG I ever played that I first really fangirled over – the first character that was my Number One Favorite Video Game Character – Rosa Farrell from Final Fantasy 4.

June 1999

We are going so far back that I have no idea what my first Rosa fan art was. It's not this – but I wanted to highlight it because I was incredibly proud of myself. Rosa, all sad and anguished because she's missing Cecil.

But let's talk some about her, the good and the -- maybe? -- bad.

October 1999

I first played FF4 in May 1999, on a rickety and unreliable Super Nintendo. The cartridge was prone to failure and wiped out my first save once I'd gotten the team underground. But by then, I was invested, too invested to give up and play Chrono Trigger or something. I had to find out what happened to Cecil and Rosa and everyone, so I slammed that cartridge right back in and started up a new game. Fortunately, that one lasted all the way through.

January 2000

As I said, it was my first JRPG, and I adored the medium, especially the story. Along with having a rickety SNES, I also had a house with a not-great internet connection, and this was long before you could easily look up Let's Plays and videos of your favorite scenes. Convinced in my young mind that the game might never properly work for me again and would never, I don't know, be republished, I immediately sat down and wrote a detailed, dramatized summary of the whole thing just so I wouldn't forget it.

April 2000

And my favorite element of the story was Rosa, the healer, the archer, the female lead. Maybe it's just that FF4 was my first game, but I like to think there's a special spark to Rosa that makes her stand out.

June 2000

I was bubbling over with enthusiasm and, along with writing out a detailed summary, I subjected my patient and obliging mother to endless dissertations on the characters and story. I specifically remember talking to her about Rosa, and her commenting that Rosa was a traditionally “feminine” character, even “passive” – a healer, a love interest, needing to be rescued not once, but twice.

November 2000

And I think that's worth exploring – as neutrally as possible. On one hand, in fiction we do have a very long history of imperiled, secondary, predominantly supportive heroines, and the fact that so many had to be written that way reflects something bad in the real world. On the other hand, I really do believe that most tropes are just tropes, and even if they've been overused, often badly used, that doesn't mean they can't be used.

August 2001

In a lot of ways, Rosa is a very safe character. Though she's a studied mage and master archer, that's not why she's in the story. Her main involvement is as a love interest, both to the hero Cecil and his rival/best friend Kain.

November 2001

Rosa's reason for joining the adventure comes down to her love for Cecil. She isn't seeking her own quest. She never states a goal that isn't Cecil's. In fairness, the game is very stripped down, and none of the characters voice very complex motives. You could just as easily say Cecil is Cid's reason for joining the adventure.

November 2002

But Rosa's story beats all come down to Cecil and Kain. Surely, on such an adventure, Rosa would grow and discover things about herself, but you never hear about it. What you hear about is her worrying about Cecil, worrying about the fate of the world, taking care of others, and of course getting kidnapped. All very safe, non-disruptive things for a female character.

June 2004

There are even moments where the game leans into a slight but still apparent sexism. At the siege of Fabul, despite Rydia and Rosa being practiced fighters and valuable mages, they're sent to tend to the injured while the men go off to fight.

June 2005

This is echoed at the end of the game when Cecil himself, who knows full well how powerful Rosa and Rydia are, still forbids them to join him in the ending level. There's some brief resistance, but then the girls, in all apparent obedience, quietly leave while the men remain to save the world.

September 2005

Part of it may be that Rosa comes from a very early video game, but if we look at sci-fi/fantasy itself as a genre, we had more boundary-pushing heroines long before the early 1990s, at least in the West. By then, we already had Princess Leia, Red Sonja, Alanna the Lioness, and others.

April 2006

Rosa is brave, talented, and loyal, but is she ultimately a regressive character?

October 2007

I don't know if I have a perfect answer to that. What I do know is that one of the things I've always loved most about Rosa is that she knows her own mind. Yeah, she'll support you. Yeah, she'll cast Protect and Haste on you, and then she'll Cure you when Bahamut takes your HP down to 1. But she does not do it meekly.

2008

One of her first scenes is her comforting Cecil as he deals with his thorny ethical angst. But she quickly stops murmuring kindly to him and tells him he can't just mope and complain about things. He has to take a stand. He has to own his actions – change himself, one of the themes of the game. She sees it long before he does, and she isn't exactly tender as she tells him.

July 2009

She joins the adventure for Cecil, but she doesn't join with him. He leaves without her (she doesn't beg to come with him, she has things to do) and when he goes missing, she sets off on her own in search of him, going faster and getting farther than he did before desert sickness stops her cold.

March 2010

And at the end of the game when this selfsame Cecil, this guy who grew up with her and is in a relationship with her and knows her so well, tells her to go home and be safe while he and the guys save the world, she does meekly turn around and leave. But she doesn't go far. She and Rydia stow aboard his spaceship and travel with him and the men to the moon. Whereupon she tells Cecil, with no ambiguity, that he cannot keep her from coming.

October 2011

Which is a good thing, because I have beaten FF4 many times, and let me tell you, you are not surviving the ending boss without Rosa Curing you, Protecting you, and probably Lifing you more than once.

February 2013

So have I exonerated Rosa? I've shown how assertive she really is. Have I proved she's not regressive?

October (?) 2018

Honestly, I'm not a big fan of the assertive woman = automatically good female character theory. A woman can be physically weak, even psychologically timid, and still be an incredibly interesting, complex, and strong character. And another can be bold and brave and badass and still remain uninteresting and shallow.

2020

But I think I've shown that, whatever Rosa is, she's not passive.

August 2021

Being a back-row archer isn't a problem, being a healer isn't a problem, being conventionally feminine isn't a problem. Even, at the end of the day, being a “safe” character isn't actually a problem. It comes down to how well the character's written – and, even more subjectively, how they connect with the audience.

May 2024

Rosa connected powerfully with me. Since then, other characters have come and eclipsed her number one spot in my heart. But I still love her a lot, and I don't want to see her dismissed.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hi hope you're doing well. Who is one of your favorite turtles? Mine that Ive somehow connected with emotionally is Raphael . I understand some of his frustration of fitting in .Me as a person with a mental disability I got bullied for it .I felt I never fit in anywhere.

Yay! My first ask!

I'm so sorry you were bullied because of your disability, so was I and it sucks. I really hope things are better for you now.

♥️🧡💙💜

Raphael is my first love, and you never forget your first. One of my earliest memories is of the 1990 movie (I was around 4, so I dont remember much). I remember seeing him cry and being really upset. When he fell through the skylight I was inconsolable. My father had to fast-forward the movie and prove to me that he was going to be okay.

When I was little, I just wanted him to feel better. As I got older and understood him more, I loved him more. The passionate one, the artist, the one that loves so much and so fiercely that he has nothing left for himself.

I didn't grow up in the best home and was pretty much left on my own most of the time. He sort of became my sanctuary. He gave me a home and a family and the validation and support I desperately needed. I knew that as long as I had him I'd be okay.

A lot of the rest is really hard to explain. Like April mentioned in my Damnit drabble, there's this gravity... I always come back to him (even though, now that I'm an adult, he would 1000% not be my type).

I've had plenty of other paracosms (yeah hi, mental fuckery here, too 🤪 ), some that have lasted for 10+ years. Even when role-playing with others, this is one that I only made the mistake of bringing up once, because, lets face it, we are a very specific kind of fandom. It's taken a long time for me to get the courage to make the things that happen in my head tangible. My partner and I have been together for 15 years and I'm only now becoming comfortable enough to talk semi-openly about it. But Raph has always been there waiting for me to come home.

I always do. ♥️

[tmntkiseki]

Actually, going back to yesterday's topic of TMNT 2003 and it's lack of romantic subplots with the turtles themselves, I think this is the part where I mention that TMNT 2003 actually came into my life at just the perfect time?

So a little over a year ago, I ended my first serious relationship as an adult. I don't like talking about my ex too much even now, but we were together for over five years and after the break up, the next several months were spent stewing in a boiling pot of rage, sadness, and regret. I wanna say all my negative feelings towards my ex and our relationship peaked during May - July 2023 and didn't simmer down until around autumn, which coincidentally was about when I started watching TMNT 2003. (I'm also convinced that a lot of the stress from the breakup led to some of the minor-yet-concerning health problems I've been dealing with over the last several months, but I have no way of proving that.)

One of the big problems is that, at the time I broke up with my ex, I tended to watch/play a lot of romance-focused media. Under normal circumstances, I'd still be able to regularly engage with a lot of the shows and video games I normally do without being becoming a bitter ball of anguish. Unfortunately, within a couple of months of breaking up with ex, games I used to love like Rune Factory 4 Special or shows like Snow White with the Red Hair became absolutely unbearable play/watch because of all the negative feelings I had towards my ex. If a love interest wasn't reminding me of my ex with certain...behaviors, I was looking at a relationship onscreen and thinking to myself "Why couldn't we be like that?" It was a nightmare.

Fast forward (lmao) to... god, when did I start watching TMNT 2003? I wanna say I started watching it either late August or early September? The pipeline of how I ended up watching TMNT 2003 is a weird one, but there were a couple of things that stuck out to me when I first started watching it. For starters, even though it was a Western cartoon, there were certain quirks about it that reminded me of the anime I usually watch (namely the fight choreography and being so heavily plot-focused rather than episodic in its storytelling) and I found myself gravitating towards it because of that alone. And I just love the characters. The turtles themselves are incredibly well-rounded with their own strengths and flaws, and the supporting cast and antagonists make the world feel very alive and lived-in. (I personally can't get over how half the time the turtles aren't even attempting to get into trouble; they usually just end up walking into the plot of the week purely by accident.)

But besides that, as I mentioned in my other post, even though there are a couple of romantic subplots in the show, most notably the April/Casey one that spans pretty much the entire series, the turtles themselves never end up entering a serious relationship with anyone. The closest we ever get to romance with one of the turtles is Don's one-sided crush on April, which was never going to go anywhere on account of her being an adult and ending up with Casey, and I wanna say the crush is almost entirely dropped by midway through Season 3. Beyond that, the turtles are never shown becoming physically attracted to anyone and all their important relationships--Splinter, April, Casey, Klunk, Leatherhead, Honeycutt, Sydney, Angel, the Professor, the Justice Force, Traximus, the Daimyo, Usagi, Gen, Renet, the Ancient One, the Acolytes, Cody, Serling, and Starlee--are all strictly platonic. And you know what? That's okay by my book.

It is a fact that society regularly insists that the key to happiness is finding your One True Love and places more emphasis on romantic relationships than platonic ones. I personally don't want to die alone, but at this point in my life, I don't need a romantic relationship to be happy--in fact, I think being in a relationship would just complicate things when I'm still getting my shit together as is. When you look at Leo, Raph, Don, and Mikey within the context 2003, I cannot recall a single moment where one of them complains about how their status as a one-of-a-kind mutant turtle means they'll probably never land a partner and as far as I can tell, they seem perfectly happy as is. They have each other, they have Splinter, April and Casey are there too, Klunk, all their other friends--really, what would giving one of the boys a love interest do for them? The answer; not all that much, honestly. In fact, I feel like the risk of giving any of the 2003 turtles a love interest far outweighs the reward.

Now, mind you, I don't think it's impossible to give one of the 2003 turtles a serious love interest--in fact, I have a lot of thoughts about how it could be done right--and that it actually would be something worth exploring in a reboot/sequel series that'll likely never happen, but again, I don't think that TMNT 2003 suffers for the lack of turtle romances and is perfectly fine as is. 2003!Leo, Raph, Don, and Mikey are very lovable characters and are able to have fulfilling relationships without any of them being romantic in nature and I think that's a good message to send to people, whether you're a young kid or a grown adult. Romance is great, but so is a crushing bear hug from your three brothers, your rat dad, and the two humans you adopted.

[hydeingpurples]

Hey man! I always love hearing about others’ transition. I’m a trans guy myself who is just now identifying that way very recently and is navigating getting ready to start T and top surgery whenever I’m able as I am saving up. I’d love to hear about your journey and where you are now. 😊

🏳️‍⚧️ Testosterone and Top Surgery 🏳️‍⚧️ (UK) : Discovering Myself, Hormones, Top surgery, Where I Am Now

Hey buddy! I'm more than happy to tell my story so far. I'll pack as much into this post as I can, as it may be helpful to others too, so it may be a bit long, but I'll do it in sections 😊

🕵🏻 Discovering Myself 🧐

This bit was tough. I think it is for a lot of us. I knew deep down for several years that I wasn't a girl. I was terrified of the thoughts that were buzzing around my head, terrified of the things I was feeling. I buried it so deep. At university, I started to let go a bit. Friends around me came out as non-binary and trans, I figured it wasn't so bad. I experimented with pronouns and identities, and eventually I admitted to myself that I was just a guy. I came out to my family aged 21 by letter and it went really well.

Things were still a bit scary though. Trying a binder on for the first time was both exciting and daunting. It felt so freeing and right, but scary too because it meant that, maybe, I needed to get rid of my chest.

💊 Hormones 💉

Over time, the dysphoria got worse and worse. I was becoming extremely jealous of my best friend who was on testosterone (T) and features that other men had that I didn't. I struggled most with my period. At its worst, I spent hours in my flat toilet and the toilets at work crying and withering in disgust and vile discomfort. I'll never forget those feelings.

I knew I'd make it to the other end though one day because my friend had. And, fortunately, April 2023, that day came.

📝 Testosterone Prescription 😄

After jumping through a load of loopholes and sending my blood tests off, my GP/Doctor booked me an appointment. I thought it was just to talk to me about my blood tests.

I sat down and he talked to me for a bit. Nothing much, nothing special. Then, he started printing something out. He whipped it from the printer and handed me this lil slip of paper. It was a prescription letter.

You know how people say the world can stop? Or go in slow motion? That's exactly what happened. I must have spent an entire lifetime staring down in silence, in awe, at this little piece of paper. My eyes were welling up with joy. I looked at him and all I could do was thank him, over and over and over again. A great smile beamed on his face.

Upon leaving, everything was blurry. It was like I had tunnel vision. All I could see was this piece of paper. I stormed out of the building, called my Mom, and violently cried with joy.

"Slow down, I can't understand you", she said.

"I've got it. I've got it. I have a testosterone prescription!" I spluttered.

It took me a while to calm down, haha. I've never been so joyous.

🌱 Testosterone Effects Timeline 📊

⚠️Please note everyone's changes, intensity of changes, and rates of changes are different⚠️

Week 1: no voice drop, but my throat felt different; increased discharge downstairs; a little sweatier and took me longer to cool down.

Week 2-3: some hot flashes but not many; needed bigger meals.

After 1 month: period stopped (🥳); small amount of increased hair growth on legs; head hair started growing faster; more and slightly more intense hot flashes; subtle voice changes, easier to talk at my lowest level.

2 months: stamina increase, longer work time and shorter recovery time; voice slightly deeper; upper lip hair started coming through darker; increased peach fuzz hair growth on face, arms, legs, stomach, especially legs; increased spots on back.

Up to 6 months: how I felt and processed emotions changed (found it A LOT easier to process emotions, less chaotic mind); even more hair growth and a few random beard hairs; further stamina increase; my sweat and pee changed how they smelt which was weird; further voice changes; sometimes I had sudden bouts of strong hunger but not often.

Up to 12 months: increased downstairs discharge stopped; even more body hair (thicker, darker, curly), especially on legs; a few more beard hairs on chin; back spots decreased; voice a little deeper; face shape changes, boarder shoulders.

Up to 17 months (now): almost every area on my legs is hair; hair growth on butt and up butt; a few more beard hairs (that grow back pretty quick after shaving); warmer, more and longer got flashes, difficulties cooling down (I'm also extremely heat averse though so 🤷🏻); masculinising hairline (i.e receding at the front to look more masculine); much more noticeable voice changes, difficulties reaching higher tones, much easier to talk low.

Extra: I haven't experienced any bottom growth or change in libido at all. I've identified as asexual for a while now and still do, no changes at all. It's fairly common to experience bottom growth and some report a change in libido too, I just haven't 🤷🏻

🧑🏻‍⚕️ Top Surgery 😷 - double incision

I was terrified I wasn't going to get to this stage. I moved from Wales to England and both have different medical systems, so I was petrified of my surgery referral getting lost.

Fortunately, it didn't get lost. Once it was booked in, I had my consultation where I met the surgeon and her team, I was measured, told about the process and what could go wrong and what the solutions were.

Now I had a new fear: was this right? The self doubt was ridiculous. What if I regretted it? What if I hated my results?

The morning of the surgery answered these questions. My plan was that if it felt wrong on the morning, I knew I had the power to back out.

At 8:30am I was called to my surgery. I wrapped my arms around my Mom, a giant smile swallowing my face, and I said, "see you later!", and pranced down the corridor with the nurse. I was SO excited.

Going under anaesthetic was perfectly alright. It was insanely fast which I wasn't expecting. They started the anaesthetic and all I had time for was a few sentences before I was out.

🛏️ Recovery 🏥

💫I've got a big list of tips and tricks for top surgery recovery which might be best for another post because it's huge💫

Recovery actually wasn't too bad. When I woke up, the only discomfort I felt was a prickly feeling around the surgery site which they quickly sorted with painkillers. The day after anaesthetic was a bit rocky, I slept a lot and felt a bit icky, basically like a hangover. After that, all I felt was a dull aching in my abdomen for 3/4 days, otherwise no pain. I couldn't actually feel anything around my nipples or incisions, it was totally numb. The trickiest part was actually keeping myself busy so my Tourette's didn't damage the surgery site.

Once things had healed up a bit more and my stitches were out/dissolved away, I really started to appreciate my new chest. Unlike some people, I didn't have a super euphoria moment. For me, it's simply been total peace and relief since. I no longer think about my chest in any capacity. It feels natural, normal, right, and that, to me, means it was absolutely the right decision. It was what I needed.

🙋🏻 Where am I Now? 🙋🏻

It's been just over 10 months since my top surgery and my scars are fading very well. I'm very happy with the results. I've regained a substantial amount of sensation too in both my nipples and the incision scars. I've done a huge amount of scary care which I'm happy to talk about in another post so this one doesn't get any longer.

I'm fortunate enough to have had all of my records changed, I have a male passport, and I recently passed my driving test and have a full driver's license with my new name on it!

But, I think more importantly, I now feel more confident, I care about what I wear and how I look, I've found my style and what I like to wear, I look after my personal hygiene, and I feel like myself.

And that is where I am now 😊

I hope you've found this helpful in some way. There's a lot of information here. It was nice to type that story out. If you'd like anything else in more detail or have any questions, go for it!

[daughter-of-sapph0]

quick question, what's an era 2 tumblr user? we have eras??

it's sorta something I made up myself. tumblr has gone through various shifts in presentation and tone that dramatically affected how people use the website. honestly idk if anyone besides me actually uses this system, but I'm gonna use it anyway because it's funny

so Era 1 is from the start of tumblr until dashcon. this is where the dashboard had those weird lines on the side of reblogs, was the hight of superwholock, allows editing other people's posts, and was filled the overwhelming prevalence of fandom. back then, tumblr wasn't very mainstream and most people who used it were big nerds (affectionate). so there was a strong sense of community between people who had shared interests.

Era 2 starts after dashcon in summer of 2014. this was a disaster of an event that sorta boosted tumblr's popularity for better or for worse. this is also when I first joined in late 2015 as an undertale blogger originally (my first blog has since been deleted though). this is what I'd call the meme era of tumblr. it's when most of the most popular jokes are from. it's when massive inside jokes and tumblr references started. and it's the time where the most people were active. and it lasted until about late 2018 with the porn ban

Era 3 was kicked off with many users deciding to leave tumblr near the end of 2018 beginning of 2019. tumblr's policy on porn up until then had been "go nuts. show nuts" until it was bought by virison who tried their best to make it "family friendly". the whole thing was handled very poorly ("female presenting nipples") and didn't even get rid of all porn, just porn from sex workers and artists who sold nsfw content to make a living. most of those people left for sites like twitter, and many other sfw artists (and also people who just used tumblr for free porn) left with them. for a while, tumblr was pretty empty. but not entirely. there were still very close knit communities, arguably even closer than Era 1 even. and honestly, this is when tumblr was at its most usable. it was quiet. the only thing that you had to worry about was the occasional porn bot (and staff's growing authoritarianism, but we'll get to that). it's hard to argue when exactly Era 3 ends. I like to say it's when elon musk bought twitter, but I also think it might have started a bit before then. it's more of a slow transition that happened sometime between early and late 2022

Era 4 is the return era. when everyone who went to twitter came crawling back. this was sorta kicked off with staff starting to be more lax with their porn restrictions. but don't think that staff was having a change of heart and suddenly nice. for the longest time, they had been overstepping boundaries and abusing their authority, such as banning mainly Black and leftist users calling them "Russian psyops". it was also around this time that people discovered that there were several terfs on the development team, and that was likely the reason they didn't ban nazis and terfs despite both being in clear violation of the tos. tumblr staff tried to distract from this controversy by adding a bunch of gimmicks. the crabs for April fools, blazing posts, checkmarks, tumblr live. this for some reason actually worked, and a lot of people just forgot or didn't care about staff any more, and it actually brought in a lot of new users. I have no idea how long Era 4 will last. all the Eras have been kicked off with a massive change in how social media operates that becomes more dramic and impactful each time. so short of the us government completely banning tiktok for good, I doubt Era 4 will end any time soon.

sorry this turned mostly into a rant against staff near the end. as you can obviously tell, I'm sorta biased towards Era 2 and 3, as that's when I had the best experiences with tumblr. and a lot of the problems I have with the site today can be traced back to staffs stupid decisions and abuse of power and authority.

but yeah. I hope that makes sense.

[fox-quills]

Do have any additional thoughts/ideas you’d be willing to share about Mobius?

OKAY FIRST AN APOLOGY BECAUSE THIS HAS BEEN SITTING SINCE???? NOVEMBER????? I'm so so sorry anon I'm on mobile 99.9% of the time and I don't know where that stupid app hides asks but I'm like the t-rex from Jurassic Park I can only perceive movement 😭

Second thank you so much for taking the time to ask about my mostest favorite topic in the whole wide world! Unfortunately there's not a lot I can say about the fic story-wise without spoilers, although I have SO MANY post-fic thoughts I'm dying to share. Unless someone really wants my thoughts on how gender works in this particular omegaverse variant?? I spent so much time thinking about something that's only tangentially mentioned lol BUT, I can talk a bit about the process of writing Mobius! Because it has been an experience. I started Mobius just over a year ago (april or so), but didn't really knuckle down and and get cracking until June/July. It started as aideku, because I thought it was an interesting ship idea, but the few fics I'd come across hadn't really scratched the itch. I didn't even plan on writing it, but my beta at the time kept nudging me, and before I knew it I had a wholeass plot. And then a first chapter, at which point I was done for. In the original iteration of the fic, Hizashi was only meant to be the supportive BFF, but something in the original idea run (I forget what exactly) made my beta go.... hey how come this isn't a poly ship? And the answer was, I'd never written one before and didn't think of it, BUT IT IS NOW. (If you've read any of my other fic you may have noticed that this has become A Problem, and also led to a stealth love of dekumic, because apparently I wish to languish in rarepair hell) The fic has gone through about four major version changes. Aideku -> aidekumic (which came with some major detail pivots even though the overall plot hadn't changed) -> suffering reduction (it was gonna be so bad) -> suffering reintroduction, but different. It's gonna punch everyone right in the heart but I don't think I'm sorry about it. I'm also going to have to sneak back to the first chapter and retcon a detail once I get the actual logistics sorted. OH WAIT I DO HAVE A DETAIL I CAN SHARE THAT'S NOT A SPOILER ANYMORE. Although maybe skip it if you haven't read the latest chapter. Hizashi was, originally, not going to get together with them this early (not until near the end of the fic, actually). They still had the bond, and Izuku did eventually figure it out, but for [redacted] he decided not to act on it. So they both thought they had a one-sided bond, and just... never did anything about it. For a long while. Which eventually culminated in Shouta being away, Hizashi having an untimely heat, and him and Izuku sleeping together because mash an unfulfilled bond together with overwrought pining in a hormone cocktail and you get bad choices. Which resulted in a lot of immediate guilt in the aftermath, even though Shouta had clocked them ages ago and wasn't all that upset about it. Then something immediately happened to make things worse, but I can't disclose that part because it's still going to happen. ;)

That continued to be the plan until chapter 11 happened, with all the snuggling and purring, and @fondofeveryprickle read it and was like, "...if you wanna keep this I think you need to reevaluate The Suffering because these things do not mesh." Which resulted in a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth because that was a HUGE upset to the back half of the fic, and not something I was excited to re-jig. But she was right. And the new way was better. And then @scratchxiii said, "Hey what if we added Different Suffering?"

To which I replied, "Ouch my heart, that's absolutely devastating let's do it."

The blorbos uh, tend to get the worst of it when we're left unsupervised. BUT fresh suffering aside, the happy ending tag still applies, I'm just gonna make them earn it. :)

[kawareo]

For no particular reason, what’s a line/song that reminds you of your durgestarion ship? Both pre- and post-tadpole since I haven’t decided on said no-particular reason.

Hi Novae :) Very excited for that no-particular reason 👀👀

If Shayfer James is my top Durgetash music, then Nico Collins is the one for the angsty disaster that are Durgestarion. Hate me is one I listened to a lot while writing Unsaved, and a lot of verses work for them (obviously Astarion's POV)

Got both feet on the edge Are you gonna come and save me? I'll take one final step All you have to do is make me

Damn you always get your way Guess it's written in your nature You know everything to say Just as long as I'm in danger

I know that I'm stupid, I make a mistake And repeat it a million times But it's better to see your familiar face Even though it's been killing my mind

Or this line from I'm So Sorry;

You must live a fucking nightmare Awake and in your dreams Looking for someone to hold your misery

And while I don't want to get too into spoilers for their relationship post-tadpoles since I'm really excited to build it up, song GRRRLS is very nice for it, as well as pre-tadpoles

I am the latest colors, I sing the newest songs I read all the lyrics, so I can sing along I am the latest colors, I stand above my throne Waiting for an invite to never come along

More under cut because i dont wanna spam lol

Be nice to me by Front bottoms! works so well for both of them, especially post tadpoles!

What's it matter anymore? You believe the lies I tell There's no meaning to words But we still sing these songs well And we all left it alone I'm sure it will work itself out fine They are playing with your numbers And we are running out of time

You're a killer and I'm your best friend I think it's unfair, your situation You say I'm changing, Sorry I didn't know I had to stay the same Can we talk about this later? Your voice is driving me insane

I try to write you poems, but the words they don't make sense The hand tries to grip the pencil, but the fingers are too tense I try to show emotion, but my eyes won't seem to wet I'd love to tell you stories, but I can't remember how they went

Young minds by Rare Americans is one that's less negative!

I know I don't always treat you right I get fucked up to drown out, the noise inside I've felt alone my whole life

But don't give up on me Cuz I'll show you the man that I can be We're learning as we go Young minds, in a world, that we don't know Young minds with a long way to go

Another really nice one is anything from April to Death by Flower Face

I think I saw him slow-mo crashing on the interstate Think I saw him sleeping through a hurricane He's a violent man and his heart's decayed He's a liar, but I just can't stay away

This one is more just for Tadpoled Strike, but entire song Bordeline by Nico Collins

I'm in purgatory Middle of the story Pulling back and forth from surrender and glory All the pressure internally It could very well be the death of me

This is my favorite verse but it really is the whole song

But if I had to just chose one I'd go with "What's it matter anymore? You believe the lies I tell, There's no meaning to words, But we still sing these songs well" (Astarion) or "I try to show emotion, but my eyes won't seem to wet, I'd love to tell you stories, but I can't remember how they went" (Strike) or anything else from Be Nice to Me

[sarahlizziewrites]

Where my WIPs are at:

Chrissie's of London - ~70% of the way through a second draft of Book 1 (Chrissie's, Strand), hopefully to be completed by start of September. I had promised I'd either start querying or get a Patreon set up by the time I finished this, but... I haven't done any querying at all. Motivate me?

Book 2 (The Electric Pavilion) is my go-to project at the moment when I'm sick of editing - currently 17k words.

The Adventures of Sitora Lux - Book 1 (Honesty's Cost) is still out for beta feedback after draft 2. I haven't really worked on Book 2 (A Different Kind of Courage) since last year (currently sitting at 13k words). This series is functionally on hiatus until I work out what to do with it. I think I need to pitch it solidly as YA even though it wasn't written that way.

Grey Sky Lark - this has always been a back-burner project and I haven't worked on it much lately. It's at about 12k words.

Brazen Sparrow - I got some good work done on this in the last few weeks, but I have to be in the right mood for my pirate girlies. Currently sitting at 12k words.

Crime-Fighting Husbands - I finished 'Til Death Do Us Part during NaNo 2023 and haven't really touched it since then. I have had two alpha readers provide feedback, but nobody has really been brutal enough about it. I know it needs more meat to the mystery but I can't figure out what. If there are any seasoned mystery readers/writers out there who are willing to give me brutal feedback, lmk!

Book 2 (The Ruby of Ranpur) is in the planning stage and I intend to start this for a chilled NaNo-esque challenge over October and November. Tbh this is a better mystery as a whole, and I learned a lot from my first one. I'm excited! Check on me by Thanksgiving lmao.

The Melody of Your Gravity is on hiatus. Sorry. I haven't updated since like, April, and I've also slipped out of the fandom a little. I'm not caught up on Campaign 3 and I'm lacking the motivation. I do want to finish this story, though. Maybe more news about the Mighty Nein Animated will get me excited. Fingers crossed!

Dawn Meeting - my interactive fiction thing over at @tell-me-a-poll-story. I know some people were really jazzed about this, but the pressure got to me. Idk. I don't hate the story so I might carry it on. But I remember crying over the outcome of the polls at times so it wasn't really healthy tbh. I didn't have a healthy relationship to writing in 2023 at all so it was good that I took a step back. On hiatus - not dead.

Anyway this was long lol. I want to make Chrissie's public so you all can finally read it, maybe with a goal of getting it self-published, but I know that something like a Patreon will stress me the fuck out and make me avoid it (as evidenced by the manufactured pressure of NaNo and the false accountability of publishing a fanfic and my own interactive story being really unhealthy for me). I'd love any and all advice about doing this shit professionally and not losing your mind lol.

Thanks for lending me your dividers, @saradika, they are so cute.

[other-shades-of-sapphire]

Miroh – Bang Chan

Chris x best friend Bora, circa April 2019

Finally getting their first ever music show win, Chris realized just how much he wanted to have his other firsts with Bora.

This one mentions references to Mirror, can go check that one out first for context.

The night of their first music show win ever with Miroh passed by in a whirlwind for Chris. After finishing M Countdown, PD-nim treated them to a late night supper of barbecue, which lasted until way past midnight. Chris couldn't remember the last time he felt this happy; he really couldn't stop himself from smiling the entire night. Despite everything, though, he also couldn't help but think about the one thing – or rather, one person – who would've made this night even more perfect. 

When said person didn't show any sign of getting out of his mind, Chris excused himself – after making sure that the kids were still cheerfully chatting and chomping on their food – and went to the deserted sidewalk outside the barbecue place, dialing a phone number he'd memorized off the top of his head. 

His call only went through after the seventh ring, just when Chris started to think she wasn't going to answer. "Hello? Chris?" 

On the other end of the line, Bora's voice sounded a little slurred and heavy. Chris grimaced; it was one in the morning, he should've known better. "Hi, sorry. Did I wake you up?" 

"It's fine," Bora mumbled, sounding just a tad bit more conscious now. "Is everything okay?" 

"No, yeah, everything's fine. I'm at a barbecue place. PD-nim's treat." 

"Ah, right." Almost fully awake by now, Bora made a cheering sound. "I understand some congratulations are in order?" 

Chris beamed. "You know?" 

"Of course. Do you really think that little of me? I even watched it live on TV, you know. You did really well, Christopher." 

"I wanted to share the night with you too," he admitted, absentmindedly picking on a loose thread on his shirt. "That's why I called, despite the ungodly hour. Sorry about that." 

"No, no, don't worry about it." There were rustling sounds, as if she was shifting on her bed. "So when can I see you to congratulate you in person? Next month?" 

Chris knew he really shouldn't. He knew he was being selfish. But this was Bora, he thought, his mirror, his love. Maybe he could afford to be a little selfish with her. "How about tonight? What say you?" 

"Tonight?" 

Bora didn't say anything else for a while, long enough for Chris to start feeling bad. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't think – " 

"Tonight would be great," she cut him off. More rustling sounds as she probably made to climb out of her bed. "Better than next month, I'd say. When and where?" 

An hour later, Chris found himself sitting on one of the deserted chairs at the equally deserted 24-hours convenience store just around the block of his dormitory, anxiously eyeing the parking lot waiting for Bora's familiar car to show up. He nearly couldn't contain his mixture of feelings when it finally did. Then he couldn't stay seated when Bora's familiar figure, clad in sweats and a hoodie, got off the car, so he stood up as she made her way to him. 

The second she was within his arms' reach, Chris crashed himself into her in a hug. She laughed softly as she rocked him from side to side, arms clinging to his neck. Her voice was just as soft as she whispered to his ear, "Congratulations, Christopher. You made it." 

Chris always tried his best not to cry. He thought he was at his most vulnerable whenever he cried, and he didn’t like being vulnerable. He'd almost failed when they were receiving the trophy back on M Countdown, but he'd managed. Right now though, with Bora in his arms, her voice in his ears, he found himself frantically grasping at his ever-slipping self-control as he tried to keep his emotions on check. 

Though Bora, having known him for almost eight years now, seemed to notice. She gave the back of his head a little pat. "Let go. I know you were holding back on stage earlier. You can let go now." 

So let go Chris did. He cried silently to the comfort of Bora's shoulder, letting his emotions took over for once. He couldn't remember exactly when was the last time he'd cried, but at the moment he couldn't find it in him to care, not one bit. Especially not when Bora kept murmuring praises and reassurance to his ears. 

Only when he was sure the tears had stopped completely did he pull away – though not by far, since his hands refused to leave Bora's shoulders. "Sorry," he croaked. "Got carried away. It's just... it feels emotional." 

Bora offered him the brightest smile, as if Chris hadn't woken her up in the middle of the night and asked her to drive just to meet him. She reached up to brush the lasts of tears off his cheek with her thumb. "It is emotional." 

Chris had something else to say, he swore he did, but when he opened his mouth the words he heard in his ears were: "Can I kiss you?" 

He saw Bora's eyes widened and silently cursed himself and his stupid, stupid mouth. "But you still have another year," she finally said. 

Took Chris a few moments to realize that she was talking about his 2-years dating ban; he did still have another year before he's finally allowed to have a girlfriend, as per his contract with the company. He cursed, out loud this time. "Can we just screw it? It's just – this is my first music show win, and it made me realize how much I want to have my firsts with you." 

Her entire face softened at that. "Ah, Chris." The sound of his name coming from her lips might just be his favorite ever. "As much as I want to screw it too, I can't. You'll be breaking your contract if we were to date now. I can't do that to you." 

"We'll just go under the radar, then." 

Bora shook her head. "Still too risky. We can't do that to the kids." Her hands went to frame either side of his head. "You should never choose between me and the kids, Chris. No matter what happens, they always come first." 

"But – " 

"Promise me," she insisted. 

He held her persistent gaze for a while. He was being selfish and irrational, he realized as his rational thoughts started coming back to his mind. But the thought of choosing anything over Bora, his mirror, his love, was far too unimaginable for him. 

"Chris?" 

"I promise," he finally muttered. 

"Good." She smiled, pushing his untamed curls off his forehead. "Don't worry, love. I can, and will always, wait for you." 

Chris had something cheeky to say to lighten up the mood, he promised he did, but then Bora leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, and his mind – his entire world, really – went blank. 

They'd never kissed before. Not once, not even after the conversation they had last year – where she'd told him that she was pretty sure she loved him, and he'd asked her to wait for him. This was a first, their first, and boy, did Chris look forward for many, many others – both in kisses and in firsts – after this one. 

This one, though, was as brief as it was soft. When Chris finally managed to knock some senses back into his blank head, Bora was already pulling away. He tried to chase her lips, tried to steal a few more kisses because how was he supposed to feel enough with just one – 

Bora chuckled at his impatience. "You said you want to have your firsts with me. There, you have another one." 

"It wasn't my first kiss, though?" 

"I meant your first with me," Bora deadpanned. "You – good lord, why am I even trying?" 

He laughed. "Was it your first kiss ever?" 

"Of course not – Chris!" 

previously on | coming up next

Find more tales of Chris & Bora and the rest of Stray Kids here!